tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47157037529305392412024-02-21T22:39:43.470-06:00I should have been a journalist...I joined Blogger in 2014 because my Facebook page was turning into a Faceblog page. I had other blogs floating around on the Internet as well, but to this day I don't remember where they lurk. I do know that my first one is frozen in time on Angelfire, never to be edited nor taken down, since it appears they no longer exist!Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.comBlogger88125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-6348510466020073642023-02-04T14:19:00.001-06:002023-02-04T14:19:32.835-06:00<p> <b style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Who Makes Up This Crap? </b></p><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">I saw a heading on Quora today for a list of "Things Baby Boomers Still Think Are Cool." I went through the clickbait so you don't have to, and I offer you the list, along with my comments.</span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">1. <b>Cursive</b>. I happen to love cursive writing, and I admire beautiful penmanship and calligraphy. I write my journals in cursive and I'm proud! I'm also happy to think that my descendants won't be able to read them.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">2. <b>China Plates. </b>I suppose. We do have Haviland. We even have an antique china cabinet with curved glass doors. One of my sisters has my parents' complete set of Castleton Caprice. Surprised that this list didn't include sterling silver.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">3. <b>24-Hour News Networks. </b>If an unbiased one existed, I'd probably enjoy it. I do miss journalism--thank God my mother sends me the Tribune. I'm surprised that newspapers didn't make this list.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">4. <b>Diamonds. </b>What? I wear my necklace with a tiny diamond on an 18k gold chain every day. It was a retirement gift from my best friend 13 years ago. I love diamonds.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">5, <b>Patterned Wallpaper. </b>Ugh. Agree. So 1980's.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">6. <b>Unpaid Internships. </b>Why is this on here? To me, irrelevant.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">7.<b> Crocs. </b>Again, I agree. Glad they didn't put Birkenstocks on their list. I have about 25 pairs.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">8.<b> Blaming Millennials. </b>For what? <i>Why? <br /></i></span><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">9. </span></i><b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Home Shopping Channels. </span></b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">I don't think they're cool.</span> Never have. My home shopping channel is amazon.com.<br /><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">10.<b> High Waisted Jeans. </b>You try being 72 years old with abdominal fat. I can't even zip up my size 18 Sevens. I will always wear my mom jeans.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">11.<b> Writing Checks.</b> Of course I write checks. Just not as many as I did 20 years ago.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">12. <b>Landlines. </b>Yup--got rid of ours around 15 years ago. I still miss it.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">13.<b> Fossil Fuels. </b>Why would someone think this is cool? Why is this on the list?<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">14. <b>The Mall. </b>Yup. Osteoarthritis in both knees. The good stores went away long before I reached the stage of finding walking uncomfortable. Amazon.com is my mall.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">15. <b>Khaki Capri Pants. </b>Oh, please. I own several cute pairs of convertible pants (you can roll them up and snap them) I guess it's not a matter of coolness, unless you're talking about the weather. I won't appear in public in shorts.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">16. <b>Denim everything. </b>Agree. That went out with the Duggars. I do love my jean jacket.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">17. <b>Jello everything. </b>Ugh. Agree. Never thought it was cool.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">18. <b>Encyclopedias. </b>Yup. I was a paraprofessional reference librarian for 35 years, and never used them.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">19. <b>Socks and sandals. </b>I wear socks with my Birkenstocks sometimes. I must be the epitome of uncool.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">20. <b>Phone books. </b>Agree, but I miss them. They were fun to look at. When I was still working, whenever I had a shift in the Local History and Genealogy Room, I enjoyed looking at the old phone books from our city. Can't say I used them for reference questions.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">21. <b>Shag Carpets.</b> Ugh, ugh, triple ugh--I have hated them all my life. I always thought that carpet companies should have coordinated with cat food manufacturers, in order to match the various hues of cat throw-up. I have always preferred hardwood floors with Turkish or kilim area rugs.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">22. <b>Visors. </b>Agree<b>, </b>unless you're sunbathing on a beach.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">24. <b>Fuzzy Toilet Seat Covers. </b>They've always seemed tacky to me, and I know no one who thinks they're cool.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">25. <b>Records.</b> LPs? Some purists like them. I still have mine. But I prefer digitized music, either loud in the car or with Bluetooth earbuds at home.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">26. <b>Ironing.</b> It's "cooler" (also in the context of weather) to wear rayon batik dresses or tops, and 100% cotton clothing. Covering your body in an oil slick of polyester material has always been disgusting, in my opinion. Wrinkled attire is not cool. Yes, I iron--and we had a pull-out wall ironing board installed in our laundry room last time we remodeled. Just like Grandma's.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">27. <b>Bar Soap. </b>I think it's unhygienic. It's not a matter of what's cool.<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">28. <b>Meatloaf. </b>I love meatloaf!<br /></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">29. <b>Patterned vests. </b>Never wore them, never thought they made a fashion statement. Were they 80's preppie? I guess.<br /></span>30. <b>Cop dramas. </b>Never watched them. Never watched western/cowboy shows, either. This week I heard, for the first time, the expression "I got the hell out of Dodge." I had no idea what it meant - I had</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"> to google it. That does it. I'm certifiably uncool.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdnFkGJoN1H_zqUtJ3p--YZxB_ESDt_LLna9r11E0BdUhgQAjNA337KjLKhgEPMUClWqhIs7yfm3N9o2K-i6cQTdSVx9x4bEOW66y9iEkPVE876LtOuyEYupwiLVFaPawg2U-MkZE62EnSB2UZ97cG6_Z5-DJfqF7e2D6zYoHifAxJ3NcNh_hWCiQ-VQ/s2454/3b.%20Stick%20(3).jpg" style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2454" data-original-width="914" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdnFkGJoN1H_zqUtJ3p--YZxB_ESDt_LLna9r11E0BdUhgQAjNA337KjLKhgEPMUClWqhIs7yfm3N9o2K-i6cQTdSVx9x4bEOW66y9iEkPVE876LtOuyEYupwiLVFaPawg2U-MkZE62EnSB2UZ97cG6_Z5-DJfqF7e2D6zYoHifAxJ3NcNh_hWCiQ-VQ/s320/3b.%20Stick%20(3).jpg" width="119" /></a></p>Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-22717361053163040962021-11-10T00:38:00.000-06:002021-11-10T00:38:11.671-06:00ON LIVING WITH ADD<p><span style="color: #674ea7;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment-->
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8ybodw1u5JPoNV1DBhb-zeAK9HW5123yk4z-hOJuKoAfcSSguS7-6b352BcGQOoMDZQm_Bc6RFib4QbOUo_Lp-jyy169yVSDfBmhjzoccYM9J36HXBBGEwhH-hBBDuQw565-lEfWBQ_l/s2048/ECollage+1968.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1551" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8ybodw1u5JPoNV1DBhb-zeAK9HW5123yk4z-hOJuKoAfcSSguS7-6b352BcGQOoMDZQm_Bc6RFib4QbOUo_Lp-jyy169yVSDfBmhjzoccYM9J36HXBBGEwhH-hBBDuQw565-lEfWBQ_l/s320/ECollage+1968.jpg" width="242" /></a></div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #660000;">I was born in 1950, and I went all through childhood, grade
school, high school, college, and most of my working years with untreated ADD
(I don’t call it ADHD, because I'm not hyperactive). It didn’t yet exist as a diagnosis, even for children, when I was little. Adul</span><span style="color: #660000;">t ADD wasn't "invented" </span><span style="color: #660000;">until I was in my forties. </span><span style="color: #660000;">It simply drained
my energy, cost me respect, and removed the option for me to marry, have
children, earn advanced degrees and excel at what I was: a paraprofessional
librarian. (Always a bridesmaid!) I was fortunate to be able to retire at 59.
Even now, on Adderall, it is difficult for my family to bear my society for any
length of time. At least now it's acknowledged and not treated as a fad
diagnosis. I'm quite sure my dad had it, too, rest his soul. It is a
disability, and how well I remember the cruelty of teachers and classmates in
school, especially elementary school--all the way up to the horrors I
experienced at a large state university, away from home for the first
time--and, of course, at work. I was lucky to be employed at the public
library; back in the day, it was considered a respectable haven for the
unloved--especially those of us with unmarketable liberal arts degrees.</span></p>
<div><span style="color: #660000;">At age 71, I am still in regular therapy, but I struggle--a
LOT. I know what a burden I am for my housemate, although I do my best. I
struggle every day with feeling stupid and incompetent, enduring criticism and
being shunned by family members who say I drive them "crazy" and
create "too much drama," even though I’m smart, creative, a published
author, a talented artist and an accomplished musician. At least I can be entertaining; my therapist constantly tells me, "You're so funny!" I love that. People who struggle as I do appreciate any kind of affirmation that comes our way, even if we're crying inside. Because we don't get a whole lot of respect in this baffling world.</span></div><div><span style="color: #660000;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #660000;"> At least I don't. Or do I? I don’t think so. If it's there, it's fleeting, and I might not notice it, because I'm not paying attention. That's how life feels, in the endless loop of ADD.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<!--EndFragment--></div><p></p>Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-3577664874483378362021-11-07T22:05:00.007-06:002021-11-08T00:41:53.174-06:00ABBA is back! And they have a new album!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;">In ABBA's heyday, I was a self-proclaimed musical snob, and refused to listen to any music that wasn't classical. They were probably at their peak in the USA when I was 27, in 1977. My car had AM radio, so I heard the songs, but I didn't wax poetic over them. Of course, the sound quality of car AM radios back then wasn't the greatest. It wasn't until I was in my fifties (!) that I got off my high horse and started to listen to their music and appreciate it. Being of Swedish heritage, I discovered a newfound sense of pride that this group, of my nationality, was so beloved. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;">Fast-forward to the dark <i>Muriel's Wedding, </i>with its hilarious <i>Waterloo </i>scene, to the release of the two </span><i style="color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;">Mamma Mia </i><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;">movies</span><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;">, which I found priceless--all I could think was "What on earth was I doing when this group was so popular? I<i> love</i> them!" I bought all their albums and have been a fan ever since. Now, as I connect with my cousins in Sweden, we're all rejoicing over the appearance of <i>Voyage,</i> just released this past Friday. Here's a picture of them - they are MY generation (!) - followed by my comments on the recording.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left;"><o:p> <span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Agnetha Bjorn</span></o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeP0Nsx-YJxBIVAm260qkMv6YVP5HJFLijv2RevRZIprczC-MBQRzNsC5PnKRX_8YsSklS5JE7NVcOdKa-FjTz1_ecRWw2QkbUksJVCn7HK1FD1BQymUYbv5Gm3o5OGoSFWq1jTE07O-cm/s1236/ABBA+now+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1236" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeP0Nsx-YJxBIVAm260qkMv6YVP5HJFLijv2RevRZIprczC-MBQRzNsC5PnKRX_8YsSklS5JE7NVcOdKa-FjTz1_ecRWw2QkbUksJVCn7HK1FD1BQymUYbv5Gm3o5OGoSFWq1jTE07O-cm/s320/ABBA+now+2.jpg" width="280" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Benny Frida</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><u>My take on ABBA'S new album, VOYAGE:</u><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;">1. My 3 Favorites:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-- I Still Have Faith
In You<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-- Ode to
Freedom <o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-- Bumblebee</i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;">2. Comments on tracks:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;">--<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>I Still Have Faith in
You</i>: Beautiful, perfect! My favorite. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;">--<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>When You Danced
With Me</i>: Great melody and rhythm--love it!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;">--<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>L<i>ittle Things</i>: Lovely melody, perhaps I would
enjoy it more at Christmas. Instrumentation is a bit birdlike and twee. If
that's a children's chorus at the end, I don't like that. My least favorite. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>--<i>Don't Shut Me
Down</i>: Great song, love it, wish the ending weren't so abrupt. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>--<i>Just a
Notion</i>--Nothing to critique. Love rhythm and harmonies. Very ABBA!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>--<i>I Can Be That
Woman</i>: Sweet, poignant;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>love the lyrics, love the song!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"> --<i>Keep an Eye on Dan</i>: Good song, I love chorus,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>people say ending is reminiscent of SOS -
I'll have to listen to SOS again to hear that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> --</span><i>Bumblebee</i>:
Enya-esque, beautiful melody-- a favorite! I hear a little bit of "Fernando" in the intro.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"> --<i>No Doubt About It</i>: Starts out "country" but I
don't think of it as a country song. Love it, but ending is too abrupt. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"> --<i>Ode to Freedom</i>: Beautiful,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a favorite--and even if the chorus is
augmented in production, I love the song! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: verdana;">3. Overall opinion: Great album! Thank you for the music,
ABBA!</span><o:p></o:p></p>Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-2496177615475725892020-12-30T14:06:00.006-06:002020-12-30T14:14:57.304-06:00On Turning Sixty - a Letter to my sisters Nancy and Cathy<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">December 19, 2020</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Dear Nancy and Cathy,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">What a beautiful soul you have, Nancy, expressing the idea of honoring our dear sister Peggy by living the rest of your years well for her. l'll add another one, if I may. Occasionally, I "mother" her son Jonathan. He knows that I'm always there for him. We have deep talks, and I remind him that his wisdom and insight come from a beautiful source - the spring that flows through him and his brothers - from their mother! I remind him how much she loved them. They were her world. We talk about Cliff a lot. Also, I talk to Stu. I love those young men as if they are bone of my bone - especially JonBob. I have learned that you don't have to birth children to have those bonds.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">With aging come the usual aches and pains, from which we learn to be brave - as in Sara Barielles' song. Age entitles us to speak our minds (with gentleness and tact, of course), and draw on our experiences as we mentor the younger ones. Aging teaches us that even though there are bodily and cognitive changes, our core selves remain - as a silk thread of constancy running through the tapestry of life. And we learn to treasure family more.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">With aging comes the acceptance of the body - there is less emphasis on hair and clothes. And even in our own aging, we sisters have our mother to look up to. She still guides us with her wisdom. We cherish our elders, and we strive to become the elders who are moving into that role.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Do not be afraid of 60! Relax and enjoy life. Dad often said that. Every day is a gift and an opportunity to do for others. One is never too old to learn new things. Look at Marie and me, beginning to play a new instrument. Yup, it's a challenge, but worth it!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Aging gives us a closer walk with our spirituality. We have faith. We learn to be less concerned about material things. We treasure family, and learn to forget about the fleeting little dust-ups that come from time to time.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Nancy, sixty is a wonderful, pivotal year. Look at you and Jack! The grace of your bodies because of healthy living. The four exceptional adults you have raised. Cathy, you are surrounded by clan. Rejoice in it!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I miss Peggy every day. JonBob and I talk about her. If he asks me questions, I answer them honestly. I miss Dad every day, too.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Please don't forget about our sister Susan. Love her and call her and think about staying in the '"now" when you talk to her. That's good advice for everyone.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">So yes, we Flygare sisters have achieved the honorable status of cronedom. Wear that crown proudly but humbly, Queen Nan Jeanne.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">2021 will be a grand adventure. President Biden! A vaccine! I look forward to the day "when the lights come on again, all over the world." (That's an old song) Because, indeed, they will. And we shall all see it together.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">With all my love and respect,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Elizabeth</span></p>Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-81351472984119379332018-07-22T17:44:00.001-05:002018-07-22T18:34:42.987-05:00Appreciating My Parents<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yesterday,
my nebulizer machine wouldn't work. I took it apart methodically. After I'd
removed the hose from the unit, I turned it on, and felt air coming through.
Turned it off, re-attached the hose, and again felt air. Then, I replaced
the inside part where you pour the Albuterol solution, and felt no air. Aha! I
took a paper clip and stretched it out and poked it through that sucker. The
tiny pinhole was clogged up. I replaced the part, and felt air! I tested the
final attachment, including the mouthpiece, after filling the little
compartment with an ampule of Albuterol. Voila! I now have a working VIOS
nebulizer. Next cycle I run through it will be with a solution of vinegar and
water, to clean out any other buildup. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My father, Robert J. Flygare, who passed away in 1997,
was a chemical engineer. Hence, I composed the following and sent it to my
mother and sisters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #741b47;">"Well,
things breakin' down can cause ya dismay<br />
Unless you're a daughter of Robert. J.<br />
He could fix anything, and I'm just that way--<br />
Thank God I'm an engineer!"</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #741b47;">Then,
I got to thinking about Mom, who turned 92 in May. Her response to my e-mail
had been, "Yes, all our daughters are 100%." I thought about
that for a few minutes, and then sent her this:</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #741b47;">"Mom, you said in an e-mail to me: "Yes,
all of our daughters are 100%." Well, you are 100%, too! Yes, I sent a
poem about learning to fix things by watching Dad, but that doesn't mean I
couldn't write a volume about all the things I learned from you, back when I
was "Gigi Doll," (aka "Little Vi.") Here is a list, at random, of things that warm my heart because I got them from you: (and I
am still learning!)</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #4c1130;">1. When driving, even though we now have seat
belts, if I have to brake suddenly, I automatically swing my right arm across
the passenger seat to protect the person sitting there, even if there is no
passenger!<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #741b47;">2. I sing my life. I find myself turning so
many things I do every day into a song! Mom, you sang our childhood to us. This
link is to a video from You Tube of five sisters singing "Music in my
Mother's House" to their mother and her friends at her 80th birthday
party. You won't be able to understand the verses because of the laughter, (I
couldn't). But the chorus comes through loud and clear.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #741b47;"> </span><a href="https://youtu.be/SJ6zeGlGo-0">Music in My Mother's House</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #741b47;">3. You were wonderful when I was learning to drive.
I felt so calm and relaxed when I was in the car with you! You were calm and
patient with me.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #741b47;">4. .Every day, after we got our stereo, I'd
come home from Linden Park School and ask you if I could listen to one of our
classical records. You were always so pleased to fulfill my requests. It was
because of your description of the music course you took in college (you even
gave me the textbook!) that I decided to pursue music as a minor in college.
Who could ever forget you singing "Ceeeee-sar Frank! Ceeeee-sar
Frank!" to the Symphony in D Minor? (It is actually pronounced
"SAY-sar Fronck") You taught me so much about classical music!</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #741b47;">5. "Do for OTHERS." What a gift. Your
words, so often said to me, are my motto. People can't be happy if they are
self-centered. You taught me that.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #741b47;">6. You drew me to the United Methodist Church,
and back to my Christian faith. I am forever grateful for that.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #741b47;">7. You taught me some simple things that I
still appreciate--here are two: (a) how to put polish on my fingernails the
correct way, and (b) the polite way to fold your hands in your lap at church if
you aren't wearing gloves--always cup your hand with a beautiful ring on your
finger inside the other hand--do NOT lay it on top, because that looks like you
are admiring your jewels and showing off the people next to you in the pew.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #741b47;">8. You taught me to assert myself. I have
always admired how forthright you are. I like to think that I got that from
you. I bet we all did!"</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #a64d79;">I'm sure there are many, many more things I
could add to this list. </span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130;">______________________________________________________________________</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #a64d79;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I hope all who read this take a moment to cherish their parents, be they living or not. I continue to feel blessed every day of my life because of the beautiful childhood they gave me.</span></span></span></div>
<br />Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-19211223218811123412018-03-15T00:54:00.000-05:002018-03-15T01:20:51.721-05:00My response on Quora to the question: What is the most cringeworthy thing you have seen at a wedding?<div class="ans_page_question_header" style="border-bottom: 1px solid rgb(226, 226, 226); color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 32px; padding-bottom: 8px;">
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<span class="photo_tooltip" id="__w2_d1SWDyh_link"><a href="https://www.quora.com/profile/Elizabeth-Flygare-1" id="__w2_t1cLedM_link" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #2b6dad; text-decoration-line: none;"><img alt="Elizabeth Flygare" class="profile_photo_img" height="50" src="https://qph.fs.quoracdn.net/main-thumb-141471765-50-oryzscrrnuyxxgrvzehzpqfyubguamxv.jpeg" style="animation-duration: 0.001s; animation-name: insQ_100; border-radius: 50%; border: 0px; color: transparent; height: 40px; width: 40px;" width="50" /></a><span id="ZnCIhm"></span></span></div>
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<span id="zgoAKy" style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130;"><span id="__w2_LIM78Dx_link"><a action_mousedown="UserLinkClickthrough" class="user" href="https://www.quora.com/profile/Elizabeth-Flygare-1" id="__w2_LIM78Dx_name_link">Elizabeth Flygare</a></span></span><span class="IdentityNameCredential NameCredential" style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; line-height: 1.4;">, former Retired Paraprofessional Librarian (1975-2010)</span></div>
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<span class="credibility_wrapper"><span id="spNYci" style="color: #4c1130;"><a action_mousedown="AnswerPermalinkClickthrough" class="answer_permalink" href="https://www.quora.com/What-is-the-most-cringeworthy-thing-you-have-seen-at-a-wedding/answer/Elizabeth-Flygare-1" id="__w2_pxdcMck_link" style="background-color: white;">Answered Feb 5</a></span></span></div>
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<span class="inline_editor_value" id="__w2_CVkAOfW_answer_content" style="margin-top: 0px;"><span class="ui_qtext_rendered_qtext" style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130;">Myself, in true ADHD fashion, nonchalantly photobombing every attempt the professional photographers made to take pictures at my niece’s wedding reception last May. My fat ass got in about twelve of them - me at an awkward angle, snapping with my phone, oblivious to the horror that was rippling throughout the room as I blocked their view. The sister of the bride had to text my sister (mother of bride) to tell her that “Elizabeth needs to sit down and stop taking pictures.” A month after the fact, my sister emailed me the worst of the photos. You can even see the looks on the faces of the guests, the wedding photographers and the wedding party. I will add that I had on a bright pink batik tunic and shocking pink leggings, finished off with bling Birkenstocks. I looked like I was wearing the drapes.</span></span></div>
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<span class="inline_editor_value" id="__w2_CVkAOfW_answer_content" style="margin-top: 0px;"><span class="ui_qtext_rendered_qtext" style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130;">I honestly was clueless about what I was doing. I was simply focusing (forgive the double entendre) on our 91-year old’s mother’s request to me, that I “take lots of pictures,” because she doesn’t travel any more - she has a caregiver - this is the first family wedding Mom has missed. Mom does not know about my faux pas (too lazy to look up the plural of that) and - thank heavens, the other family members at the table were too polite to mention it to me after the event, and I know they didn’t tell Mom.</span></span></div>
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<span class="inline_editor_value" id="__w2_CVkAOfW_answer_content" style="margin-top: 0px;"><span class="ui_qtext_rendered_qtext" style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130;">I will never wear that outfit again, but here is a photo of me wearing it at WisCon in Madison, a week or so after the wedding. In this one, I am with my boyfriend, and I’m not being a fool. (at least I don’t think so) Obviously I packed the outfit for the con and wore it with aplomb because I hadn’t yet heard about my “performance” at the wedding reception. (My sister didn’t see the proofs until June) She was plenty pissed off at me, but she promised me that no one else would see the photobombs, and that they would not be printed. Haven’t worn the outfit since. The shoes hurt my feet, too.</span></span></div>
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-80257048548930390232018-01-24T15:38:00.001-06:002018-01-24T16:33:47.014-06:00My Review of Girl at the End of the World on Goodreads<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21029021-girl-at-the-end-of-the-world" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Girl at the End of the World: My Escape from Fundamentalism in Search of Faith with a Future" border="0" src="https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1395117231m/21029021.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21029021-girl-at-the-end-of-the-world">Girl at the End of the World: My Escape from Fundamentalism in Search of Faith with a Future</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4976111.Elizabeth_Esther">Elizabeth Esther</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2268954077">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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I have heard horror stories about daily spankings, ("the sword of the Lord,”) starting when children are six months old. I have read about the fear of being "left behind" (when, not if) Armageddon happens, and families who have meeting spaces in case the Rapture occurs and they are "arrested by the Antichrist." I’ve heard all about the modest clothing, the practice of "courtship" (arranged marriages) in place of dating; in short, the self-flagellating, terrified affect carried around like giant rocks around their necks by people who were born and raised in this environment. I have read countless non-fiction books about fundamentalist sects that are out of the bell curve, and I have observed people who appear to be carrying that weight. <br />
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But never in my born days have I read someone’s actual words about how she believed that "being a pacifist means hitting your kid to save her soul." The use of violence against children is abhorrent to me, as I am sure it is to most. Never have I ever heard of a little child forced into street preaching, believing "I am ready to die for Jesus." In this short book by Elizabeth Esther, we are taken into the graphic world of hyper-literal interpretation of the Bible (my note: which version?) along with rigid rules, fear, child-beating and brainwashing.<br />
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This is religious abuse.<br />
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Elizabeth Esther's wake-up call comes following the tragedy of the attacks on 9/11/2001, which were interpreted by her family as the Apocalypse. Following this is a private disclosure by Elizabeth's own mother, where she confides to her daughter that before marrying Elizabeth's father, the love of her life died of a serious illness. Catapulted by the shock of this loss, her mother lands directly into a marriage into what amounts to a cult. Yes -- even so, Elizabeth’s mother chooses to follow the rigid teachings and practices. <br />
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Elizabeth marries a man named Matt, who was raised as she was. They start out resolving to bring up their children along the lines of their childhood mindset. Then, one day, the light comes on: It is the moment Elizabeth’s mother hands her a kitchen spoon and orders her to discipline her one-year-old baby. She realizes that she that she does not have to break her daughter's spirit by beating her. Eyes opened, Elizabeth finds the courage to say "No!" The cycle is broken. She and her husband, Matt, begin to hunt for the truth. They find others who are willing to give eyewitness accounts of their own abuse. Through arduous research, including the process of hearing from others about this type of fundamentalism, they learn about misuse of tithe money, adultery and horrendous beatings of women by their husbands in similar sects.<br />
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"Love me, God. I dare you," she prays. She feels a call so strong that she follows it. Now, she and Matt are raising their children in the Catholic Church, where mystery is embraced and service to others is encouraged. Through her new faith, Elizabeth is freed from the terror of a vengeful, punishing God. She learns, through therapy and her newfound beliefs, to be gentle with herself. She gains the courage to put away the self-loathing and, for the first time, feel able to be both holy and happy. We see her make peace with her mother, accept her parents’ apology, and become able to forgive. I am glad I stayed up late enough to finish this book. I slept better knowing that Elizabeth Esther and her family have found security, safety and grace. I will never again make fun of the fundamentalism movement in which she was raised, because<u> cruelty is never funny</u>. Many who read my review will question her decision to turn to Catholicism; I respect it. I respect her for having the guts to write this book in hopes that it will help others. I am thankful that she has realized that she is a beloved child of God, and that she has found joy and purpose in life.<br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/23644497-elizabeth-flygare">View all my reviews</a><br />
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-23043243956493435862017-10-06T14:32:00.002-05:002017-10-06T14:37:36.361-05:00The Stolen Marriage by Diane Chamberlain<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33574127-the-stolen-marriage" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Stolen Marriage" border="0" src="https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1489460469m/33574127.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33574127-the-stolen-marriage">The Stolen Marriage</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/93345.Diane_Chamberlain">Diane Chamberlain</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2136233594">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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I finished Diane Chamberlain's new novel, "The Stolen Marriage" late the other night; I simply couldn't stop reading until I turned the last page at 4 AM. Yesterday, I was so lost in a post-reading reverie ("book hangover?") that I forgot to go to an appointment I had at 5 PM. I am a great fan of Diane Chamberlain and have read and loved most of her books; however, "The Stolen Marriage" moves her up to the next level--from the Kristin Hannah/Barbara Delinsky crowd to the Chris Bohjalian/Wally Lamb/Curtis Sittenfeld realm. Based loosely on a true story, this powerful book is the real deal - a brilliantly-crafted, well-plotted, and flawlessly researched novel that will not disappoint any reader who loves suspense in a family setting.<br />
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Set in 1944, the storyline revolves around three major issues of the era: the taboo of out-of-wedlock pregnancy, the laws against interracial marriage, and the epidemic of infantile paralysis (polio). Chamberlain's tightly-woven plot kept me turning pages. "The Stolen Marriage" is replete with multi-dimensional characters who are certainly not who they seem to be, but I won't disclose the ending. I will say that the twist outdid Jodi Picoult. I commend Diane Chamberlain on her graduation to the next league of literary fiction writers. Highly recommended!<br />
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-41726160477394832952017-09-22T14:41:00.000-05:002017-09-23T13:36:09.931-05:00<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/31348238-the-summer-of-impossible-things" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Summer of Impossible Things" border="0" src="https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1499895462m/31348238.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/31348238-the-summer-of-impossible-things">The Summer of Impossible Things</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/327467.Rowan_Coleman">Rowan Coleman</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2131800021">5 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
I stayed up all night reading this 424-page novel because I was so drawn into the story that I could not put it down. The basic premise is that a young woman named Luna, who lives in England and works as a physicist, loses her mother to suicide. Before she and her sister Pia travel to Brooklyn, New York, to settle the estate, Luna views footage from a film their mother made as a goodbye. In this footage, the mother alludes to a terrible event from the past, and reveals that the man Luna always knew as her dad is not her biological father. The footage ends with the cryptic words: "If you look very hard you will find me in Brooklyn.....if you want to look after you know what I did....He wouldn't let me go, you see. Find me...please."<br /><br />Luna senses a deep dread and a primal knowledge upon hearing this message. Her fear stems from the fact that she has been experiencing intermittent flashes and odd, disorienting episodes that suggest that she may have the ability to travel back in time. In fact, as soon as Luna and Pia are in Brooklyn, Luna has the same strange, familiar flashes, which intensify as she approaches the building where their mother once lived. She hears the song "Hotel California" coming from her mother's building. There she encounters unusual furnishings and a group of young people in late 70s attire, and she realizes that she has landed in 1977. She is stunned to discover that the woman she sees sitting on the back of a brown sofa is her mother. When their eyes meet. Luna sees that her mother, Marissa ("Riss"), is free-spirited and lighthearted, unlike anything Luna remembers from her late mother's affect. This makes it immediately clear to Luna that Riss has not yet experienced the trauma that altered her personality and eventually drove her to kill herself. It is obvious to the reader that whatever happened to Riss resulted in Luna's conception. (A major hint is disclosed early on: Luna is the only member of her family with blue eyes).<br /><br />When Luna and Pia meet the lawyer who is handling the estate and the sale of their mother's building, they are given a box labeled "To My Daughters" in their mother's handwriting. It contains four reels of Super-Eight film, a projector and a battery pack. When the sisters watch the first film, they see their mother and hear her tell them the story of what happened to her in 1977 that destroyed her life. Now knowing the truth, a horrified Luna resolves to rewrite time in order to save Riss from the experience that drove her to take her own life in middle age, even though this will eradicate Luna's very existence.<br /><br />Luna discovers the identity of her birth father. She travels back to 1977 several times; inevitably she and Riss are drawn together and bond. This strengthens Luna's determination to find her birth father and prevent Riss from ever meeting him. The blue-eyed man revealed as her father comes as a shock to the reader - at least to me. At this point, I was unable to stop reading.<br /><br />Each time Luna goes back in time, something is altered about the past. (This is reminiscent of Stephen King's 11/22/63). I won't reveal any more of the details; suffice to say that Luna falls in love with one of her mother's male friends from the past, and she encounters older versions of these individuals when she is in the present time. Just when everything seems to fall into place, a shocking twist occurs, and the book's resolution left me reeling.<br /><br />I will admit that even though I caught some hints early on, I was so drawn into the story that I suspended my imagination and went for the ride. I'm glad I did, and even happier that I didn't glance ahead (as I often do) to see how things would end.<br /><br />The odd thing about this book is that it came out this past summer, and I was unable to buy it on Amazon; I had to get it from England. I am still pondering this. I am also eager for the movie that I hope will follow. This is by far the best book I have read in 2017; I will add that I've already read Rowan Coleman's earlier books and was already enchanted by her writing. This book will resonate with anyone who loved The Time Traveler's Wife and 11/22/63. I am looking for more of Rowan Coleman's work; needless to say, I highly recommend this novel!<br /><br />
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<a href="https://draft.blogger.com/null"></a>Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-3507544932014673502017-09-18T17:02:00.001-05:002017-09-18T17:44:50.679-05:00My response to Quora question: "How would you compare SMART Recovery to AA?"<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-indent: -0.25in;">I’m intrigued by SMART Recovery, and might check it out if we had a group in my home town, but I doubt I’d go to a lot of meetings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I will say this:<i> AA does not work for me.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have four years of sobriety, and I attended AA diligently for over three years. By last fall, I had had it up to the gills; I had been getting more and more annoyed with the behaviors I observed at the group. I was disagreeing more and more with the philosophy; the final straw was the day I found myself at a meeting at which the chairperson used the “Tag, you’re It” method rather than the customary going around the table. I was never called on. As it was, at this particular meeting, my “sponsor” (that is in quotes and I’ll explain later) was sitting right next to me. To make a long story short, it was five minutes before the end of the meeting and she had just spoken, and she knew I had not had a turn. Instead of being classy and turning to me and saying “Elizabeth?” she “tagged” a person who had already spoken! I felt like a high school kid in gym class - humiliated because I wasn’t chosen by anyone for a team. I’ve never cared whether I got a chance to share at a meeting or not; I accept that the meetings last an hour and if you are going around the table, which is the norm, it’s based on where you’re sitting. But this was, in my mind, so terribly inappropriate that I decided not to go back. I vehemently object to an AA meeting turning out to be a popularity contest. </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I digress; back to the question:</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u>How would you compare SMART Recovery to AA?</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Since I haven’t been to a meeting of SR, I can’t speak about what they are like, but I will make a list of the reasons why I don’t like AA:</span></div>
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<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px 0px 0.7em; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don’t buy the “one day at a time.” When I say I’m going to do something, I do it. The morning after I took my last drink, I decided that I did not want to drink any more. I wanted to live. I wanted to stop hurting my loved ones. So I stopped. That is the same way I stopped smoking in 1983—I had just bought a house with a marathon runner and had no desire to pollute our home with tobacco fumes. I had no “meeting” to go to to help me through nicotine withdrawal, which I think is harder than alcohol cessation, but I have not bought a pack of cigarettes since the day I quit, and that was 34 years ago. Yes, I have bummed one from time to time, but doing that did NOT make me want to become a full-blown smoker again. I have no desire to smoke and no desire to drink - period, the end. At this point I’ve developed asthma and won’t go near cigarette smoke under any circumstances.</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px 0px 0.7em; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The AA group I went to was full of very conservative, cliquish, right-wing Big Book bangers. The woman I chose for a “sponsor” did nothing but spew slogans at me, peppered with laughter and constant interruptions from her theatrical young daughter. I don’t need nor want a lay person to go to when I am burdened. I prefer professional help. In addition, there is a lot of gossip and scapegoating going on in that group, and there isn’t a single person there who would appeal to me as a confidante and/or support person. I was actually told more than once that I was not well-liked.</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px 0px 0.7em; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've gotten the cold shoulder from them because I <i>ask questions.</i> When I do that, I am scolded and told that I sound like a “little professor,” that I am “too smart,” that I “think too much,” and that I should read “the book.” I am United Methodist, and in my denomination, we are <i>never</i> instructed to read the Bible and take every word literally. My pastors invite discussion and debate, and there is an academic atmosphere that I very much like. AA seems almost like one of those fundamentalist churches I’ve heard about, where you are told what you must believe, and that it is not OK to question things - much less, to think for yourself. That is called brainwashing.</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px 0px 0.7em; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I stated at one meeting that while I go to church on Sunday and believe in God, I don’t think that I am sober because of God. I was called out for that, and shunned outwardly afterwards.</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px 0px 0.7em; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can’t stand being spoken to in bumper sticker slogans. I don’t like being glibly told “Make a gratitude list” by someone I barely know if I appear to be having a bad day.</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px 0px 0.7em; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Many of the people there are party people, and they were used to going out to bars with their friends and getting drunk. These folks had two problems - one, they needed to stop drinking and two, they were going to need to find a new social circle. This group is their “crowd.” In my case, none of my friends drink and I was never a bar person. Quitting alcohol has not affected my social life in the least, expect for the fact that I’m no longer drunk every day, to my great relief and to that of my loved ones.</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px 0px 0.7em; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I find AA meetings to have a robotic vibe; so many people sit there and rattle off what sound like memorized responses. There is simply no room for intellectual dialogue. It is like a religious revival meeting. Since I value religion, I attend my church. My faith and beliefs are my business, not the AA group’s. (I even had one person try to get me to attend her megachurch!)</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px 0px 0.7em; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stopping drinking for me was a matter of reframing my ideas around alcohol, and deciding I no longer wanted it as part of my world. It had nothing to do with a higher power. It had everything to do with not wanting to die of alcohol abuse, <b>which is what happened to one of my sisters this past January.</b> This just reinforces my decision not to drink.</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px 0px 0.7em; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have always made amends when needed. But I am not “powerless.” I am empowered. And I can't stand being in an environment in which people are constantly beating up on themselves. How is that helpful? In other words, I agree with some of the steps; I take issue with others. I will be damned if I’m going to sit and listen to “Half measures availed us nothing. We stood at the turning point. We asked His protection and care with complete abandon.” I didn’t do that. I just told my family, my boyfriend and my best friend that I had decided to stop drinking, and I did, and that was that. And that language about how people who don’t do the steps and don’t go to meetings will surely relapse and die (“There ARE such unfortunates”) pisses me off.</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px 0px 0.7em; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After I stopped going to meetings, I did NOT have any urge to relapse. Are you kidding me? It killed my little sister on her 60th birthday. When I think of alcohol, I want to vomit. I don’t care if other people drink; <b>however, </b>I do believe that I would put myself at risk if I took a drink, so I choose not to. That IS one part of the AA philosophy that I buy.</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px 0px 0.7em; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hate labels and I don’t call myself a smoker.<i> I don’t like calling myself an alcoholic.</i> I am a person who developed the unhealthy habit of using alcohol in excess to self-medicate when I was depressed, rather than getting help from a cognitive behavioral therapist and joining a church. I know I had a serious problem with alcohol, but the fact that I was able to stop without effort suggests that maybe I am not an “alcoholic.” I don’t think my sister nor most of the people who go those AA meetings could have cut it out completely. I <b>will </b>repeat that I believe that it would be unwise for me to drink again, and I will not.</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px 0px 0.7em; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have ADHD and I have trouble concentrating at meetings or at any gathering where I have to listen to other people for a long time. I carry a notebook with me and I take notes if I feel like I am tuning out. Being able to write is a safety valve for me; I often take notes during the sermons at church and my pastors know it, and they don’t mind. At AA I actually had a person grab my notebook away from me. That was a violation of my personal boundaries.</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 2em; padding: 0px; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Finally, I know I am on the Aspie spectrum. I will reiterate that I hate groups. I will also say this, wholeheartedly: I love life, and I want to live. And I don’t believe that I must depend on a group and meetings and steps in order to live. I will not live my life driven by fear of relapse. I am 67 and I plan to be around for a long time. I know AA has helped thousands, and I respect that. But - groupthink is just not for me.</span></li>
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-24893825636355107112017-06-28T02:24:00.000-05:002018-01-24T16:07:23.449-06:00Quora asked: What is something that you just realized?<div class="ans_page_question_header" style="border-bottom: 1px solid rgb(226, 226, 226); color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 32px; padding-bottom: 8px;">
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1. That love is not a zero-sum game. Love multiplies; it’s not one pie that has to be cut into pieces and divided up. You don’t have to take some of your love away from one person in order to give love to another; you can give each person (and each pet!) ALL YOUR LOVE. If parents could explain this to their kids, maybe using circles to illustrate, perhaps there wouldn’t be any of that “Mom and Dad love you MORE” type of sibling rivalry. It took me until age 67 to learn this very simple thing about life, and I got it from a sermon in church last Sunday.</div>
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The rest of my list comes from a meeting with a licensed clinical social worker:</div>
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2. Do not give overwhelming emotional responses to people you don’t know well. Pay attention to who the recipient is before you disclose the personal. Otherwise, you are putting that person on the spot and creating a very uncomfortable situation, and you come off as insecure and immature. The recipient will have no idea how to respond, and the response might be very hurtful. Example: You belong to a group that meets regularly, and you feel rejected by the others. You tell a random person in the group - someone you barely know - “Everyone here HATES me!” What is this person supposed to say to you?</div>
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3. That if someone is trying to hook you, scapegoat you or otherwise push your buttons, step back and ask yourself, ”Is this my shit—-or your shit?” Think to yourself, ”Does this person KNOW me?” They may very well have no idea what you are about—this is covered more in the next point:</div>
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4. Realize that abusive remarks often come from people who are remembering past unpleasant encounters with you, or old patterns that you exhibited that invited the rib jab. More often than not, people refuse to see positive changes in others; their default is to hang onto stereotypical attitudes.</div>
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5, I have come upon the knowledge that there are often times when one simply has to walk away from the toxic past, move on and seek the positive - and maybe end up with a lot of new friends. (Consider those who “knew you when,” yet remain in your life and have your back. <i>Those are REAL friends!)</i></div>
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4. If you have had these issues and are now working toward growth and positive change, it will become easier to tell the difference between <i>your</i> baggage and that of others. Tell yourself: “The more I believe in who I am as a person, the less I will be a target. If I still find myself getting gaslighted or hooked (we all do), I don’t have to take the bait, because I am learning a skill set that will teach me how to respond to such treatment, and <i>how to avoid setting myself up for more.”</i></div>
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That, my friends, is a combination of one wise lesson and some good cognitive behavioral therapy, all in a span of three days.</div>
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-63424672673527099272017-05-23T13:59:00.001-05:002017-05-23T14:18:55.598-05:00My Review of The Light We Lost by Jill Santopolo<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32956365-the-light-we-lost" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Light We Lost" border="0" src="https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1493724414m/32956365.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32956365-the-light-we-lost">The Light We Lost</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1251059.Jill_Santopolo">Jill Santopolo</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2008286419">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
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REVIEW of The Light We Lost, written May, 2017 (Spoilers)<br />
I stayed up all night and finished The Light We Lost by Jill Santopolo. It was written in exactly my style - first person, in "journal" format, sequential, and heartrending. I want to write a book just like that, in the same style! The story broke my heart, but - in the end - I think that both of the men were jerks in their own ways. #1; the one she loved passionately; chose to to leave her, follow his bliss, womanize, travel all over the world, risk his life in the Middle East, and deal her crumbs in the forms of emails, surprise phone calls, and appearances at inopportune moments. #2, .the guy she ended up marrying, was a control freak who never let her in on ANY decisions - he even bought and closed on a HOUSE without running it by her! And she thought he was cheating on her - only to find out that the mysterious "Linda" on his cell phone was the Realtor. Ugh. But when I finished the book, I suspected she'd go back to hubby (aka #2), because they had two (soon three) children - I think you can guess about the paternity of child #3 and the fate of Guy #1, but I won't spoil it. LOL.<br />
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I think she should have stuck with Guy #1. Doubt anyone would agree, but it would have changed the course of events.for both of them. I would love to think that they are living their lives in bliss. But it's just a book, and that scenario would have made for a weak ending. “Such is life,” sighs this incurable romantic.<br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/23644497-elizabeth-flygare">View all my reviews</a><br />
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-59410947738801282892017-04-13T00:31:00.001-05:002017-04-13T00:49:44.878-05:00My Quora Post about Given First Names, or What Not To Name Your Baby<div class="ans_page_question_header" style="border-bottom: 1px solid rgb(226, 226, 226); color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 32px; padding-bottom: 8px;">
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<span id="hXsqep"><a href="https://www.quora.com/profile/LizzaCat" id="__w2_OFWFBB7_link" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; bottom: 0px; color: #999999; font-size: 13px; position: relative; right: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;"><img alt="LizzaCat" class="profile_photo_img" height="50" src="https://qph.ec.quoracdn.net/main-thumb-141471765-50-cecqsxjbvpjrzsxricwenwxnjflgihpw.jpeg" style="animation-duration: 0.001s; animation-name: insQ_101; border-radius: 50%; border: 0px; height: 40px; width: 40px;" width="50" /></a><span id="IEwcNd"></span></span></div>
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<span id="fzCKPi"><span id="OVQeVg"><span id="__w2_ou9z317_link"><a action_mousedown="UserLinkClickthrough" class="user" href="https://www.quora.com/profile/LizzaCat" id="__w2_ou9z317_name_link" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; bottom: 0px; color: #333333; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.2em; position: relative; right: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">LizzaCat</a></span></span><span class="IdentityNameCredential ActorNameCredential" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.4;">, "Teach people how to treat you."</span></span></div>
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<span id="nHISpv"><a action_mousedown="AnswerPermalinkClickthrough" class="answer_permalink" href="https://www.quora.com/What-are-some-names-you-should-not-name-your-child/answer/LizzaCat" id="__w2_h3WsqNy_link" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; bottom: 0px; color: #999999; position: relative; right: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Written just now</a></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="answer_41646148" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #2b6dad;"></a><br />
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<span class="inline_editor_value" style="margin-top: 0px;"><span class="rendered_qtext" style="tab-size: 2em;">Gay. or Gaye.</span></span></div>
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<span class="inline_editor_value" style="margin-top: 0px;"><span class="rendered_qtext" style="tab-size: 2em;">I am grateful to see the post, further down, from another woman who has had to endure “Gaye” as a first name. Born in 1950, I, too, suffered from this name, spelled “Gay” on my birth certificate. What made it harder is that (1) our family surname has a “y” and a “g” in it, which made my name sound guttural and unfeminine; (2) My parents went on to have four more daughters who got normal names; Susan, Catherine, Margaret and Nancy.</span></span></div>
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I loathed my first name; at the age of four, I actually said to my mother: “Why did you name me Gay? I’m not a happy child.” I made up several aliases for myself throughout grade school, junior high and high school.</div>
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Yes, I endured Gail, Kay, and mockery. In junior high I added the “e,” thinking “Gaye” would at least look more sophisticated.</div>
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The only thing I loved about my name Gaye was that it was fun to write.</div>
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I started college in 1968. One of my friends had to take me aside and tell me that I should NOT introduce myself by saying “I’m Gaye.” I had no idea what the term “gay” meant - it was just coming into use to mean “homosexual.”</div>
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At age 27, I had had it. I read a book called <i>Born to Win,</i> which made me realize that I could take control of this curse. I immediately dropped my first name and started going by my given middle name, Elizabeth, which I’ve always loved. (My parents were relieved) I officially announced it at work. I went back over old drawings I’d done and altered my signature. I even got a new Social Security card and drivers’ license.</div>
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I wanted a middle name but it seemed very weird to just pick out something. Sometimes I would tell people my middle name was Amanda, because that is actually a name in my family.</div>
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Then, a friend of mine who did not receive a middle name publicly gave herself “Rhiannon” as a middle name. That seemed reasonable to me. If she could do it, why couldn’t I? At the time, the singer Enya’s sister, Maire Brennan, named her newborn daughter “Aisling.” It means “dream” or “vision” in Irish/Gaelic and can either be pronounced as spelled or as ASH-ling. I’m Swedish, not Irish, but I fell in love with that name and claimed it for my middle name in 1996, and I have been Elizabeth Aisling ever since. My boyfriend calls me “Lizza,” which I love.</div>
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Later poor Maire sold out and started calling herself “Moya” as her sister Eithne did earlier, to become “Enya.” They probably got sick of the mispronounciations.</div>
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I still don’t know why I didn’t get the name Joy, or Felicity or Felicia (my grandpa’s name was Felix!) or even Hilary if they’d wanted a cheerful name—or Abigail or Gail if they were going for that G-gay sound. The only G name I can think of that is ickier than Gay/Gaye is Gladys. Even Gertrude would have been fine. Gaia is beautiful, but no one would have known how to pronounce it. I’ve even heard of MEN named Gay - not Gaylord - just Gay. Bevare oss väl!</div>
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It is because of this unfortunate moniker that I have been fascinated, to the point of obsession, with bad baby names. There’s a wonderful website, <span class="qlink_container"><a class="external_link" data-qt-tooltip="notwithoutmyhandbag.com" href="http://www.notwithoutmyhandbag.com/babynames/bestof.html" rel="noopener nofollow" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: url("//qsf.ec.quoracdn.net/-3-images.new_grid.external_link.svg-26-aef78ead48f1f1e2.svg"); background-origin: initial; background-position: right 0.3em; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: 10.5px; color: #2b6dad; padding-right: 15px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Best of Bad Baby Names</a></span> that gives some choice examples.</div>
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For years I would not disclose what my first name was, but when Facebook came along, I had to out myself at times so my high school friends could find me. I am no longer embarrassed about my given first name; I will tell people what it is if the subject comes up. I have decided to own it. Damn, though, I am very glad I got to put Elizabeth on my passport. And even though my father was an avid genealogist, no one is going to find me under the name Gay, because I just found out that you can actually have your birth certificate changed. I’m going to look into it.</div>
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-88360399267378375562017-03-01T16:10:00.000-06:002017-03-02T13:57:55.870-06:00Who Am I, and Why Would Someone Want to Be My Friend?<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">DISCLAIMER: I was asked by a Buddhist therapist </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">to ponder these questions</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">. I planned to work on this
during my vacation in Florida from January 20-Feb. 4. As bad luck would have it,
a few days after Marie and I arrived in Florida, I received the news that my
sister Margaret had died. You will see details surrounding her death in this
post. I also must note that when I finally saw the therapist, she didn't
even read it. Does it matter? Not really. I like to write. It was an
interesting activity.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">January, 2017 was not a
good time for me to try to write something like this – or was it? Perhaps we
never know who we really are until (1) we receive startling news and (2) any
time our values collide with opposing ones, and we discover where the other
person stops and we start. </span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">All my life I’ve let others
define me. The loss of my sister and the subsequent family interactions have
profoundly changed me.</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I did read this to aloud
one person: my best friend from college (1968-72). She thought it was prolix.
When she got to the part about me being a rock, she laughed out loud and said,
“You’re a skipping stone.” And I think she is right. I am a rule-breaker, and
I’ve broken another one now – I’ve decided to take what she said. I am, indeed
a skipping stone. And here is my dissertation.</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am
Elizabeth, the eldest of five sisters – now we are four. I am my sister’s
keeper; or, I tried to be. I am the sister who called the police to
do a welfare check on my sister Margaret in Hawaii, on January 24 of this year,
because no one could get hold of her on her 60<sup>th</sup> birthday.
While my friend and housemate Marie and I were hoping to have fun on our
Florida vacation, I was the one who found myself placing that call to the
authorities. Yes,<i> </i>I am the Great Family Heroine whose inquiry led the
officers to my sister’s apartment, where she had been dead for four days. I am
the Responsible One: the sister, the daughter, the cousin, the friend, the
aunt, the messenger who delivered the terrible news, wrote the obituary, and
sobbed every day, 1400 miles away from home, trying not to bleed out. I didn’t
know that I needed to be at home. We stayed in Florida; what could be done? It
was so beautiful there. We had the best vacation we could, but this hung
heavily over every day we spent in the paradise we love. Leave it to Margaret
(the only other drama queen in the family) to be found dead on the day Donald
Trump was sworn in, right at the beginning of a family member’s vacation.
Timing is everything. Timing is nothing.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am a rock. My sister’s last text to me before her death was “You are my rock.” But a rock feels no pain, sings Paul Simon. And an island
never cries, sings Art Garfunkel. Not true. If I am a rock, I don’t know if I
am a fine, smooth stone on which someone can lean for anchor, or a little
pebble in a brook. Perhaps I am a rare piece of quartz crystal, or a sliver of
mica, or some type of jewel. I do know this: whatever type of rock, or stone,
or jewel I am, it is covered with so much seaweed and moss and other dreck that
I can’t see how I shine.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Always a bridesmaid, I was the Brownie Scout who never flew up. I
was the one with the Bachelor of Arts degree but no librarian credentials, yet
I got to be the music librarian at Rockford Public Library because Marie, who
was my boss at the time and didn’t care much for rules either, gave me the
position. Actually, I was an art major; I chose art because it gave me
time to dream and write fanfiction, walk in fields with my guitar, and spend
most of my college days in the music department. (To this day, most people
assume I was a music major; I am only beginning to reclaim my art). I am from
the second generation of sisters to fight over the piano; Mom and my aunts
taught us “Safe piano” to reserve it after the dishes were done. The piano
bench was my safe space. Mom sang to us; we each had our own song. I grew up in
a family with a soundtrack. Music is who I am. I identify myself through music.
So, I am music.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">My soundtrack still evolves; it follows me, marking my journey.
When contented, I am melodic with sweet, flowing harmonies. In joy, I am an
outburst of ecstatic choral singing, always with deep feeling and majestic
form, always with me conducting. The parts of me that are complete always
resolve on the tonic note. I am a weeper and a growler – I roar and pierce as a
pipe organ with state trumpets and I whimper with the chiff of flutes. I cry
out loud with the terrifying grandeur of loud registration. I am radiant, full
organ when I feel intense – all my stops are pulled out. At ease, I am that
sound you hear in the wind: a symphony with some choral sections, majestic in
parts and numinous in others.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Pensive, I am a wire-strung harp with sustain, or a classically
fingerpicked fretted dulcimer. I am a writer; I am always telling a story in my
head. I write as a talented choir, swirls of radiance and majesty interspersed
with wistful longing, bearing an undertone of melancholia. I am drama. I am
pure light when my songs flow. I am a talker and I am a jumble of words that I
sometimes reverse. I can be powerful; when misused, my power drains others.
When I am in flow, my power can enchant and energize. In morose mode, my power
shrinks into a flaccid pool of loss, and I am silence.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am a poet; I discovered at age 22 that my father had snitched a
notebook of my poetry and hidden it in a closet, as a guilty boy would stash
forbidden comic books. Mom still has it. I am also an artist, but life drawing
has been replaced by photo-editing software with a sketch setting. Like
cursive, my drawing is obsolete. Most of my skills are decorative and not too
useful. I am an ornament. I am an educated middle-to-upper middle class Chicago
suburbanite with white privilege. I attract smart people. Rockford is an
embarrassment of poor grammar, misplaced apostrophes and polyester. I am a
snob.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I fear and avoid chaos, dissonance, high-pitched shrieking,
robotic drumbeats and any type of jazz that is jumpy and unpredictable. I crave
harmony and symmetry. I am a creature with an intricate range of settings, but
I perceive myself as either on or off, much like a television set. I am sung in
the key of F, on a bright Asian piano. The key of F is blue, but I am purple. A
bruise is purple. I am a bruise, so I have come here. I am bruised and battered
because I am a lost soul who has spent her entire life granting others
permission to tell me what I am and even how I feel. Throughout the years, I’ve
tried to force a reluctant Marie to define my emotions; she has obliged at
times. This is a very odd thing to be asked to write.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am female. I am not gender-specific when it comes to falling in
love. I have identified as lesbian; now I find that my kindred spirit and
soulmate is male. Am I heterosexual now? Am I an alien from a planet where
there are no labels? No-- I label everything. Human brains would explode
without some sort of categorizing mechanism. I think that lack is what causes
autism; they are the ones whose brains cannot filter out any type of input;
they are trapped at seven plus or minus two for life. Sometimes, my mind can’t
block things; other times, I am in a tunnel, oblivious to the world. I am a
person who needs structure. I am auditory kinesthetic. I can be digital if I
have to be. I forget faces; I am the one who will remember your name but have
no idea who you are. I am sinister (left-handed.) Coarseness and vulgarity
disgust me; I believe life should be a work of art. I am an elitist. I am
also a brand, and my brand is HAIR. I am my hair, and my hair is me. I am a bit
of a narcissist about my hair.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Marie
says that I constantly look at myself in mirrors. She put an existentialist
spin on it –she thinks I want to reassure myself that I am real. I mostly want
to know if my bangs look all right. I keep wanting others to tell me what they
see. All I see is my image in reverse, in the mirror. Now we have smartphones,
so I am a selfie - I can see myself as I am! It often horrifies me. I am a
selfie who is often Photoshopped, by me, before others see my image on
Facebook. I am constantly taking selfies. So perhaps Marie is right.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am one of over a billion souls with bodies alive on this planet.
I am an abyss-walker, and I recognize my fellow abyss-walkers – as they do me.
Many people took the ferry across the river of life; I am still struggling to
swim. I thought I was a young soul; now I don’t know. I am told I am a wise,
kind, and brilliant person, so perhaps my soul is old. But my soul doesn’t seem
to fit in with the majority of other souls in this earthly realm. I am a living
thing, leaning toward the sun after a lifetime of owning only my darkness. I am
a chameleon; I am a person who fears authority and punishment, and have let
others define me because that is the only way I can stay safe.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am articulate, but I am a bubble off. My clock doesn’t run in
sync with the preferred clock of society. I am a contradiction: I test as
intuitive, but I always need things spelled out to me and I panic if I cannot
have closure. (That damned MBTI again) My life is a jumbled tapestry, but there
are some consistent threads. I am a person who wants to follow these threads. I
am a broken mosaic but I am a work of art. The pastor where I attend church
says that I am a beloved child of God. Am I?</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I hate groups. I am someone who has trouble picking up the beat in
meetings or groups, unless I am jamming with other musicians. When I am playing
my instruments, which I play by ear, I am in flow. That is how jazz evolved.
Music is communication for those who don’t understand each other’s spoken
language. I communicate comfortably with music. People love to listen to me
play. People like to be around me and listen to the music I make.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">As I said, I was a paraprofessional librarian. I chose this field
because it was, at one time, a respectable haven for a person like me who
didn’t “fit the mold” and had an unmarketable liberal arts degree. At the
library I found my fellow abyss-walkers, lovers, friends and enemies. The
mermaids sang for many of my co-workers; they never sang for me. Ultimately it
turned to corporate hell and I was pushed into early retirement.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am
supposed to label myself as “an alcoholic.” I am not a friend of Bill Wilson.
AA is a patriarchal, book-thumping, slogan-bearing herd of anti-intellectual
people who talk in bumper stickers, thrive on groupthink, and believe that they
are powerless. I am not powerless. And I am suspicious of anything that reeks
of a cult.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I believe
in God, but God isn’t what keeps me sober. I said that at an AA meeting.
Horrors! That’s why I was scapegoated and called out at least once a week
when I went to AA meetings-- I asked too many questions. AA doesn’t like that.
(“Elizabeth! You think too much! That is stinking thinking!”) Donald
Trump doesn’t want any Americans to think very much, or ask questions, either.
Most don’t. That’s why he won. (Personal note: AA would call me a dry drunk,
certainly not a sober person, since I don’t attend meetings any more. To them,
sober means “doing the steps.”) (Sober – dictionary definition: not intoxicated
or drunk.) I have no desire to drink alcohol.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am a performer. I’m the girl with the guitar on stage. I’m the
one in the crystal-dyed top, leaning over a fretted dulcimer with a spotlight
on my head. I’m the daughter at the grand piano at my mother’s independent
senior living home. The old folks love me, (“Play the piano, Elizabeth!”) and
they want to be my friend. But I am in a cage, and on some level it feels like
everyone knows that I am naked. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am the
queen of overshare, or TMI – and my specialty is attention-seeking. I agreed
with Marie's suggestion that I might not want attend the monthly Retired
Librarians’ Lunch because talking about death is such a downer at a social
gathering. She was correct; I might have disclosed too many details about
Margaret’s death and monopolized the conversations – Elizabeth, the tragic queen of
the Ladies Who Lunch. Marie is correct, of course. But even the Beatles got by
with a little help from their friends. And damn it, there was no visitation, no
funeral, and no neighbors bearing casseroles. I need my friends! I thought that
since I didn't show up, my former co-workers would send me sympathy cards. They
did not. Is it being self-centered, to have hoped for this? (Is there anyone
whose whole life has been an identity crisis who isn’t self-centered? The
selfless ones are the ones whose energy isn’t drained by this struggle). Find
me someone “in therapy” who isn’t “self-centered” and I will eat my shoe.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am someone who is loved by many, liked or tolerated by most, and
disliked by others. The support I’ve gotten on Facebook shows me that there are
indeed many people who not only want to be my friends—they are my friends. Some
of them love me. God bless social media. The people from my church signed a
sympathy card and mailed it to me. They care. The pastors like me – I am
literate, educated and liberal. (Am I liberal? I don’t have any idea. You’re
supposed to be, these days, if you want to be among the intelligentsia. (When I
was growing up, you were considered lower-class if you were a Democrat.)</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am known to do anything to avoid my deepest terror, which is
abandonment. I hate being ignored. Yet I love cats more than I do humans and
certainly more than I do dogs. Go figure. I am rebellious. I delight in
shocking people. I am morbidly afraid of being a “goody-goody,” or too prissy,
or too wholesome. That is another part of my personal brand – to be
unconventional and outrageous. I am unusual to the point where finding
kindred spirits is a chore.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am the cousin who was just told by another cousin: “You have
always been the most loving, caring person in your family. You wear your
feelings on your sleeve.” I thought that was supposed to be bad. I am someone
who has always let others define me; in this case, I’ll take it.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am a mass of cells. I am one of any bodies on the same boat,
each on his or her own journey, but I seem to be one of the few who recognizes
that we’re all on that boat together.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am the one who rushes in even where the devil fears to tread. (I
do not believe in the devil)</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am a collage of obsessions. I am the published author of a <i><span style="background: white;">roman</span></i><span style="background: white;"> à <i>clef</i></span></span><b><span style="background: white; font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">entitled <i>The Five Notebooks</i>.<i> </i>Yes,
it’s on Amazon. Go ahead and buy it and read it. I am told it reads like a
diary and that people are embarrassed for me when they read it, but it has good
reviews.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am lost, and I am terrified of being lost. I am someone
with literally no sense of direction- north, south, east or west. Do not use
those words with me, please. I will have no idea what you are talking about.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I define myself as a person possibly somewhere “on the spectrum,”
but I know that this is the hip diagnosis of the decade—ADD to ADHD to
Asperger. I look to others for validation, and when I get none, I feel crazy.
Actually, I am told that I DEMAND validation. This tortures Marie.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am the little girl in grade school who always wanted the teacher
to be interested in ME. I am the adult who still wants the teacher (mother, boss,
pastor, or any other authority figure) to be interested in ME. I'm a misfit. I
am probably perceived by most people as boring and lost in my own little world.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am that mean-looking woman who worked at the library and always
looked hateful, because with my face in repose, I resemble my Swedish
grandmother. I’ll have you know that she was as silly as they come, but she had
a frowning expression. Sorry I don’t have laugh lines; maybe I’ll get some in
my next life.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I have a terrible temper and I am the type of person who screams
at customer service people who don’t speak English well – yet I did NOT vote
for Donald Trump. I think in a lot of ways I am sort of like Donald Trump. This
frightens me.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">What makes me a unique individual? Why would someone want me for a
friend?</span></div>
<ul type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 7.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am loyal, nurturing and helpful. I have empathy.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am
intellectual. I am creative. I am talented. I am witty. I have “flair.” I
am a deep thinker, well-educated across disciplines. Those who like that
kind of person will want me for a friend.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In a crisis, I
am the calm, rational one who knows exactly what to do.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I have a freckle
on the bottom of my right foot, near my toes. When they put a tag on my
toe, it will be easy to ID my body if you know where to look.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I have no idea
how baseball, football or any other sport is played. I can’t follow it. I
had to fake it all through high school. People who hate sports as much as
I do might find that amusing.( I also flunked Driver’s Ed. the first time)</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was an
authority on all makes and models of automobiles at age 5. That makes
people laugh.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am not terrible-looking, and I have pretty hair and I
wear hippie/ “boho” clothes. People who think that is cool are going to
want me as a friend, because they will think I am cool. I have straight
teeth; some people are really turned off by bad-looking teeth.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Overweight
people aren’t jealous of me, because my skinny figure went away after I
was 40.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am passionate
and expressive, and I can tell good stories. I am a good conversationalist
as long as I remember to listen and not talk too much</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 7.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am so clumsy that I make other people feel graceful.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I have a
tremendous skill set from having worked with the public for 35 years.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 7.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I have a silly, sick sense of humor and I write
hilarious parodies.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I can be
diplomatic and polite when I want to be.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am “with it”
and on board with popular culture. I am a computer geek.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I can be what
anyone wants me to be—or, at least, so far I have been successful.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I can find an
answer to almost every question I’m asked (So why can’t I find answers for
my own?)</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul>
<br />
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</div>
<ul><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">
</span></ul>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">
</span>
<!--[if !supportLists]-->Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-17853794291860601952017-01-29T00:10:00.004-06:002017-03-01T19:35:11.244-06:00My Soul Sista: Today I Wrote her Obituary<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguL6bzTZA0-2seqcMGhrE8yJ5UjarYgt31K-ulSvirdLNFBafOQmDc15GmIySADaIz8iZ1L2f3jdsR4cOGmpau-rDVA2aUvxq8DyN0EGxEO1KRX4EqKffY4TGKIk_kAtv7_bxnV3Arg7GP/s1600/Margaret+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguL6bzTZA0-2seqcMGhrE8yJ5UjarYgt31K-ulSvirdLNFBafOQmDc15GmIySADaIz8iZ1L2f3jdsR4cOGmpau-rDVA2aUvxq8DyN0EGxEO1KRX4EqKffY4TGKIk_kAtv7_bxnV3Arg7GP/s320/Margaret+hat.jpg" width="239" /></a> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Margaret (“Peggy”) Miller<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: 67.5pt; margin-right: 27.35pt; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; tab-stops: 40.5pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 4.15pt;">
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: "Perpetua",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #002060;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Margaret Lynn (“Peggy”) Miller, <em><span style="background: white;">née</span></em><span style="background: white;">
Flygare, 60, died at home in Honolulu, Hawaii on January 24, 2017. Margaret was
born on January 21, 1957 in Idaho Falls, Idaho to Robert J. and Viola
(Swedberg) Flygare. She was the fourth of five sisters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #002060;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Margaret graduated from Springfield High
School in Springfield, Illinois in 1975, and attended Lincoln Land Community
College in Springfield, where she received training and certification as a
registered nurse.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #002060;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Margaret had a deep love for animals, and
was known for her gift of compassion and caring throughout her life. She had
unconditional positive regard for all people, and her brilliant insight and
unselfish love for others provided affirmation and acceptance for all she
encountered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: 67.5pt; margin-right: 27.35pt; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; tab-stops: 40.5pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 4.15pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #002060;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Margaret was a licensed pilot for many
years, and a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution. In addition,
she loved nature, especially bird watching and being near the ocean. Margaret
expressed her joy in life with her astonishing gift of humor, which included
her ability to write hilarious satire; in addition, she was a deep thinker,
able to express herself with eloquence on a variety of topics. She possessed a
tremendous vocabulary, a ready smile, a spontaneous gift for silliness, a
generous spirit, and a complete lack of materialism. Throughout her sweet walk
in the world, Margaret spent several years living in China, where she taught
English as a second language. She was beloved by her students.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #002060;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Margaret is survived by her three sons:
Jonathan, Clifford and Stuart. They were the greatest pride and joy of her
life. She is also survived by her mother, Viola Flygare of St. Charles, IL;
sisters Elizabeth Flygare of Rockford, Illinois, Susan (Peter) Felice of
Countryside, Illinois, Catherine (Ronald) Martin of Cherry Hill, New Jersey and
Nancy (John) Siegel of Greenwood, Indiana. In addition, she is survived by
numerous nieces, nephews, grand-nieces and grand-nephews, cousins, and many
dear friends. She is predeceased by her father, Robert J. Flygare.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #002060;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Per Margaret’s wishes, cremation rites have
been accorded. A celebration of
Margaret’s life will be held at a later date in Illinois.</span><span style="font-family: Perpetua, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-5593195422247659972017-01-10T13:52:00.002-06:002017-01-11T17:56:19.679-06:00How I am boycotting the inauguration of Donald Trump<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-outline-level: 3;">
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<h2>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sad
Friday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUK-l0XcefT4nE7U4wwHDn21kFEuExb3oXWH9_yauf9hYebdrpp97Fxm_A-3kPSoGgZeU4I6rwJFmKDBALLRWpl5LAGx29ME9llbIczgXT07nrCc3X_BlqMz1L6yazpSe4NhaNllcivgZW/s1600/Obamas.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUK-l0XcefT4nE7U4wwHDn21kFEuExb3oXWH9_yauf9hYebdrpp97Fxm_A-3kPSoGgZeU4I6rwJFmKDBALLRWpl5LAGx29ME9llbIczgXT07nrCc3X_BlqMz1L6yazpSe4NhaNllcivgZW/s1600/Obamas.JPG" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Tonight, President Obama closed his farewell address to the nation by repeating the promise he made to all Americans in his campaign and at his victory in 2008: "Yes, we can." Who could ever forget that phrase? Now, eight years later, for the last time, he reminded us of the power of hope and faith: "Yes, we did," he told the nation tonight. "Yes, we can."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Donald
Trump will be sworn in as President of the United States on Friday, January 20,
2017. I find it ironic that his inauguration falls on a Friday. I have also,
all my life, been stunned and horrified that the day that commemorates the
execution of Jesus Christ, observed on a Friday, is called Good Friday.
Why isn’t it called what it is: The Crucifixion of Jesus? Bad Friday? Sad Friday?
It is, of course, because most Christians believe what the Bible tells us:
that Jesus Christ suffered and shed his blood for us to save us from our
sins, and He rose with glory from the dead on Easter Sunday.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Barack
Obama isn’t going to come back on Sunday, January 22, to redeem this country.
There won’t be salvation for the sins of those who voted the monster Donald
Trump into office. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I
think of Friday, January 20 as a tragedy. A death. To me, Barack Obama is
Christ-like, not because I confuse him with who most Christians believe to be
the son of God. No, I don't believe he is divine; I have no
delusions that he is Jesus Christ come again. I don’t worship Mr.
Obama. I say it because he embodies, to me, the human being I aspire to
be, which is the type of person Jesus was. I grieve because Friday is the
day that I am losing my beloved President, Barack Obama, to the evil likes of
Satan. I feel like it is, indeed, a crucifixion of sorts. When President
Obama’s term officially ends at noon on that Sad Friday, I hope somewhere in
this nation a moment of silence is observed. If I flew the flag, it would be at
half-staff. I feel that God has forsaken not just me, but all of us. <o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>To
me, President Obama is a hero. He is also human, of course. He has his faults.
But he has done a magnificent job, and he has been respected worldwide. And now
he has to go away. In ten days, he leaves the White House to a narcissist who
ran for the office as a publicity stunt and never thought he would win – and
now that he has, he and his family will probably not even care to live in the
White House. I cannot even imagine Melania Trump as the First Lady, although
I’m told that she has more common sense than her spouse does. How could
this have been allowed to happen? Barack Obama was a President who made America
great; what pride I have felt during this past eight years. More than once I've
heard people lament the fact that he couldn't run for a third term; I
understand that U.S. Presidents get but two. But couldn’t the Republicans have
nominated and run a sane, ethical woman or man to take the torch from Barack
Obama if their party won? Why and how could this have been allowed to happen in
the United States of America, my country? I thought there were already written
provisions in place to prevent an unfit fool from ascending to the highest
office in the land. The United States is already shifting from being admired to
becoming a worldwide laughingstock. I bow my head in shame even though it isn’t
my personal doing. I didn’t vote for the man, but I am an American and Donald
Trump is going to be President of the United States, which means he will be my
president. But Donald Trump will never have my respect. I find even the thought
of hearing <i>Hail to the Chief</i> being played for Donald
Trump reprehensible; in fact, incomprehensible.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>To
me, Barack Obama has always exuded an aura of kindness, compassion, wisdom, and
hope. Every time I see a picture of him, or watch a video of him speaking, I
just break out into a smile. He has always been my sunshine – our sunshine. And
the First Lady, Michelle Obama, exemplifies the class and grace that we haven’t
seen since the Jackie Kennedy days. Malia and Sasha were kept under the radar,
as it should be, but never did either of them bring shame upon that
family. Nor scandal. Nor embarrassment. Never on President Obama’s watch
did anything occur to cause him censure. He never had to proclaim, “I am not a
crook.” There was no Watergate. There was no tabloid drama. Our country has had
eight years of grace, led by a respected man who is – yes – from Illinois,
where I live, which I suppose contributes to my loyalty. I have been so proud
to be an American – to say “This is our President! This is our First Lady!” I
have felt nothing but trust, joy, and hope as I have watched President Barack
Obama lead our country with such elegance, genuine charisma, compassion,
wisdom, and an affect that I can only describe as noble and dignified.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>On
January 20, I won’t be sitting in front of the TV. I will be in the car with my
friend Marie and our four cats, en route to our vacation spot in Port
Charlotte, Florida. We won't be listening to the live broadcast; instead, we'll
have music. Each of us has made a playlist of songs which we’ll listen to as a
protest while this travesty is taking place.<o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Marie’s
is different, she says. Hers starts with the election of Trump. I chose to
start mine with Bill Clinton’s campaign; I didn't bother with Bush. President
Obama didn't have a campaign song that I know of, so I segued to Hillary
Clinton’s nomination, her hopes and dreams, the early warnings of disaster with
the rise of Trump, a flicker of hope after the debates, and the terrible night
of the election. I cried for almost two hours after it was announced that
Mrs. Clinton had phoned Donald Trump, and her concession speech the following
day left me too numb for more tears. I’m know I’m not the only one who
reacted to this surreal Donald Trump victory with shock and horror,
followed by fear and depression. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>My
playlist continues with the absolute worst-case scenarios that go through my
mind when I can’t sleep: Trump’s seeming disdain for the poor, his legitimization
of the scathing racism and sexism that have lurked in the deepest bowels of
ignorant human minds, his cruel deportation threats, his name-calling, his lack
of concern for the environment, and the fear of war that his actions are
generating. I add the prayers, my own and those that came from the pulpit of my
own mainstream United Methodist Church, although I ask God to give me strength.
Our pastor prays for God to give Mr. Trump the ability to succeed, although I
think the odds are against it. And I will continue to fight for justice in any
way that I can. My playlist turns to hope and to the will to survive, and to my
vow to live my life as a strong, positive woman who will stand up for what’s
right, rather than lying down and sucking this up.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I
end my songlist with Sir Paul McCartney’s moving tribute to President Barack
Obama at the White House in a live performance of<i> Hey, Jude</i> with the
President and First Lady and Malia and Sasha singing along:<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>“Hey
Jude, don't make it bad<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Take
a sad song and make it better…<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>"…
and any time you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Don't
carry the world upon your shoulders,<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>For
well, you know that it's a fool who plays it cool<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>By
making his world a little colder…..<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>"...and
don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>The
movement you need is on your shoulder…<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>"Then
you'll begin to make it<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Better,
better, better, better, better oh<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Nah
nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Nah
nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude."</i><o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Here
is my playlist:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>ELECTION BLUES</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Don't
Stop (Official Live Version) - Fleetwood Mac<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>High
Hopes - Frank Sinatra<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Watch
Out! - Holly Near<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Nowhere
Man - The Beatles<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>God
is Sleeping/You've Got to be Taught - Ann Reed<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Bad
Moon Rising - Creedence Clearwater Revival<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I
Have a Dream - ABBA<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I
Dreamed a Dream - Susan Boyle<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>It
Could Have Been Close - Tret Fure<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Isn't
Life Strange? - The Moody Blues<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The
Times, They are a-Changin' - Simon and Garfunkel<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>In
My Hour of Darkness - Gram Parsons<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Calling
All Angels - Eliza Gilkyson<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>God
Give Me Strength - Elvis Costello with Burt Bacharach<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Chiquitita
- ABBA<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Who
Brought the Flood? - Debra Cowan<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Way
Down - Bonnie Koloc<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Chilling
of the Evening - Arlo Guthrie<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Eve
of Destruction - Barry McGuire<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Greenfields
- Eliza Gilkyson (written by her father, Terry Gilkyson)<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Dancing
at Whitsun - Priscilla Herdman<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The
Band Played Waltzing Matilda - Priscilla Herdman<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The
Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll - Phranc<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Requiem
for the Giant Trees - Eileen McGann<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Ohio
- Dala<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Trouble
in the Fields - Maura O'Connell with Nanci Griffith<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Ruins
by the Shore - Debra Cowan<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The
Blackest Crow - Bruce Molsky with Julie Fowlis<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Crow
on the Cradle - Trapezoid<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Blessed
- Simon and Garfunkel<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Hallelujah
- Jeff Buckley<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Hard
Times Come Again No More - Eastmountainsouth<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Kumbaya
- Joan Baez in Concert<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>From
a Distance - Judy Collins<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Little
People - Les Miserables Cast<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I
Want to Live - John Denver<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Mountain
Song - Holly Near<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Talkin'
Bout a Revolution - Tracy Chapman<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I've
Seen All the Good People - Yes<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Singing
for Our Lives - Holly Near and Ronnie Gilbert<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Do
You Hear the People Sing? - Les Miserables Cast<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Hey
Jude - Live Performance - Sir Paul McCartney </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>"Yes, we can!" I pray that you are right, Mr. President. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-86526627352321601822016-12-28T22:47:00.002-06:002016-12-29T15:23:11.420-06:00"I want to be with Carrie."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: blue;">Those were Debbie
Reynolds' last words, just hours ago today.</span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: blue;">
Just a few moments ago, Marie and I turned on our computers and Huffington Post
wouldn't load. We tried CNN and saw the headline, and couldn't believe it. We
checked NBC, and it is true. Debbie Reynolds has died.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: blue;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><i>Debbie
Reynolds.</i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">This breaks me into little pieces. Yesterday, while
posting about the death of her daughter, it didn't even occur to me to quip,
"This will just kill Debbie Reynolds." I am sitting here numb. Debbie
Reynolds, at 84, looked so vital. So fresh. So strong. I was so wrong.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: blue;">She was at her son Todd's house, it is reported,
beginning preparations for her daughter's funeral, when she experienced
shortness of breath. She was rushed to the hospital where she died of a stroke.
One day after losing Carrie. Devastated, I can only imagine. But gone now? I
can't get my mind around it. Marie tells me that she's read about Debbie
Reynolds apparently having a couple of strokes, but we don't know the source of
that information. It isn't in the news story - yet.</span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: blue;">
She seemed functionally OK when she posted the comment on Facebook yesterday,
although the missing punctuation marks show a red flag, now that I take a
second look.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Debbie Reynolds has died of a broken heart. May she be
reunited with her daughter and find peace</span><span style="line-height: 107%;">.</span></span></h3>
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-24939804750516501842016-12-28T14:31:00.001-06:002016-12-29T16:17:52.193-06:00Carrie Fisher:1956-2016<h2 style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 27pt 0.0001pt 0in; text-align: center;">
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #2f5597; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 21.3333px;">Remembering Carrie Fisher</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUg1Elx30OLzs9QIQDZtOTMgGmNiwoas2fPSvEmYamogbW_pFH9yXzV1ukwPzMS_WArEsKJvNaen0Iu-Bhi_p3STwAQ4xxuX7eMTnHjQ3ID8WKN5Gv5Fr-rHx4ZgBFNA9WfTMwfdk0pcGn/s1600/Debbie+and+Carrie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUg1Elx30OLzs9QIQDZtOTMgGmNiwoas2fPSvEmYamogbW_pFH9yXzV1ukwPzMS_WArEsKJvNaen0Iu-Bhi_p3STwAQ4xxuX7eMTnHjQ3ID8WKN5Gv5Fr-rHx4ZgBFNA9WfTMwfdk0pcGn/s1600/Debbie+and+Carrie.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #2e74b5; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent1; mso-themeshade: 191;"> </span><b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"> </span></b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #2f5597; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">What does one say? How does one express
feelings when our primary vehicle these days seems to be either blogs or social
media? I grew up with Carrie and Todd Fisher. I watched their father leave
their mother; even then, at a young age, I wondered about how those two
siblings would be affected.</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span><b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #2f5597; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">No mother should have to bury her
child. It’s looking like what happened to Carrie is, in some ways, similar to
what happened to my beloved friend Jean Mangan three years ago, at the age of
59. My heart broke then for her mother, Joan; and my heart breaks today for
Debbie Reynolds, who is just six years younger than my own mother, and is faced
with this heartbreak. I turn to Facebook for inspiration from folks I know
personally; it's late at night and I simply don’t know where else to go. I’m
not surprised to find wise words from so many thoughtful people.</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span><b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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</span><span style="color: #2f5597; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">MaryEllen Morgan, a dear friend from
my high school days, posts: “Let's face it, we all wish we could make as
deep an impression as Carrie Fisher did in her 60 years (a small amount of
time, if you look at the lifespan of our fathers and mothers); her lifespan was
short. But we all need this as a lesson to us. What do we need to do and say in
the new year? What does your life say about you? What legacy do you want to
leave? There is so much work to do out there, my friends. Please make room in
your weekly schedule to step up and forward to advance the ideals we all
believe are important.”</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span><b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #2f5597; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I respond to her: “MaryEllen, I
resolve that as I grow older, I shall <i>always</i> remember that as
each day passes, life becomes more and more precious." I continue: "I
will try to hold back the curt word, the sarcastic comment, the impulse to
retort. I will strive to react kindly and with courtesy to Marie, my best friend
with whom I live. I will make a heartfelt effort to control my quick temper,
and to avoid the curt response. To smile at people. To give from my heart to
others." Quietly, I pray that for the maturity to think beyond my own
personal bubble. I ask for guidance and hope in the coming years. May all of us
find a meaningful way to work for peace and justice in this troubled world.
Because MaryEllen is right. There's so much to be done.</span><b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #2f5597; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span><span style="color: #2f5597; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I talk with my significant other, Paul Dale Anderson, who
reminds me: "Know that every minute we spend with loved ones is a gift not
to be taken for granted. We ought to consciously cherish those times, and to
make all our interactions positive."</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span><span style="color: #2f5597; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">My response to Paul: "Yes. Life is a treasure. I'll
do my part by striving to remember to put others first; and by making amends
when I am wrong, without expecting forgiveness. I desire to radiate love and
acceptance to all people of all backgrounds, ages, religions, personal life
choices, and situations. To find a way to work for peace and justice. It all
begins within one's self." </span><b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #2f5597; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br />
That's why I pray every day.</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span><b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #2f5597; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Right now, I think of a certain
84-year old (yes, famous) mother, dear to me from my youth, who now has to bury
her 60-year-old child. I pray for Debbie Reynolds and for her family and friends,
who will surely provide a wellspring of strength to her. May she know peace and
grace at this time of sorrow.</span><b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span></b><b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #2f5597; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">And so I add:
"Everyone is a beloved child of God. Think before you speak.
Think before you speak. Think before you speak.”</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> <span class="apple-converted-space"> </span> </span><b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-70863585272735160732016-12-15T15:17:00.002-06:002016-12-15T15:18:48.832-06:00More on Claw Hammer: I get to repeat myself because I'm oldAnother Paul Dale Anderson essay, because this is my blog and I get to write it. Even if I repeat myself. I get to do that, too, because I am 66 years old and have earned that privilege.<br />
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This book has a great amount of personal significance to me,
because it marks the beginning of my friendship with Paul Dale Anderson. In
1989, when <i>Claw Hammer</i> first came
out, a co-worker at Rockford Public Library told me about it and I was
immediately intrigued. I've always been a horror fan, and I was impressed that
a local author had published what promised to be the type of read that was
right up my alley. I got hold of the book and I was not disappointed - I
devoured it, and I decided that I had to meet this Paul Anderson. At the time,
I was running the Northern Illinois Writers Conference, so I immediately hired
him to present a workshop, which he did - and I had the pleasure of meeting him
and his lovely wife, Gretta. Paul and I connected immediately and were to go on
to become great friends. That same year, I performed on my fretted dulcimer at
an event sponsored by Rock River Friends of Folk Music, and Paul and Gretta
were in the audience. I again had a chance to talk with them and it just
reinforced to me what intelligent, interesting people they were. Paul got a job
at the Library soon thereafter, and our friendship clicked; we went on to share
grisly stories and try to outdo one another with demented humor and the sharing
of our love for language. We co-wrote a stage production to commemorate the
retirement of Joel Rosenfeld, our director; I wrote parodies on four show tunes
and Paul did the script. I have pictures of us from that era, posing with Mr.
Rosenfeld - me sporting a dreadful spiral perm and Paul with his signature
beard, bushy black hair, and evil yet charming smile. We spoke often about <i>Claw Hammer</i>, and Paul encouraged me in
2008 when I wrote my own novel, The Five Notebooks. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Paul left the library at some point but came back; both of
us had been through enormous life changes. The connection had survived; I
remember rolling my desk chair up to his cubicle and pouring out my heart. I
imagine I was ranting about work, or maybe just the state of things at large;
in any case, he listened. We'd often see one another in the staff lounge, each
in a corner with a book, and that twinkle in his eye continued to make me
smile. Remember---at this point, we were friends. Co-workers and kindred spirits.
Nothing even vaguely romantic crossed my mind in my interactions with Paul; he
was a happily married man, devoted to his wife. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I retired from the library in 2010 and Paul retired the
following year to devote his time to Gretta, whose health was failing. When he
posted on Facebook of her death in January of 2012, I broke down and cried for
this kind man who would have done anything under heaven for her to live. I sent
him a letter immediately, expressing my condolences, and I attended Gretta's memorial
service. That winter, I thought often about my dear friend Paul, now so broken
and bewildered. He would come into the Friends of the Library shop were I
volunteered, and we'd talk frankly about his loss, and I noticed in these
conversations that he spoke freely to me as if I were family. I was honored by
that. I still considered him a dear friend and I wondered what life had in
store for him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Months later, Paul sent me a message on Facebook - basically
a greeting. What started as banter turned into a deep conversation that went on
for quite some time. Through the written word, we mutually decided to meet.
AGAIN - for me, it was to touch base with my dear friend, share a bottle of
wine and some memories, and give him a chance to talk his heart out with someone
who knew him and would listen to what he needed so express. Both of us were
blindsided by what transpired that night—we fell in love.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We didn't expect to fall in love. Love is sneaky and
capricious and I think love has a sense of humor as demented as the twisted
plays on words that Paul and I have always shared. Love calmly sailed in that
evening and tapped both of us on the shoulder, stunning me. (I can only speak
for my own reaction.) For him, it meant more than just beeing moonstruck; he
had to cope with the well-meaning but intrusive comments that inevitably came
his way, most not complimentary to me. For me, it involved a 180 degree change
in the way I chose to love, along with equally snide comments from others who
thought I was temporarily insane. It could have disrupted my household, but it
did not. Love was the joker, but the joker wasn't wild; love was sensible and
compassionate. For almost five years now, Paul and I have continued to love one
another deeply while choosing not to marry and not to share a home. My mooring
points are intact, and he is doing his dream; he followed his heart and gave up
his hypnosis practice to return to his true calling: writing. My challenge is
to remember to give him the personal, physical, mental and emotional space he
needs so he can do this work.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Why do I share all this? Because it was through <i>Claw Hammer</i> that we met, and now <i>Claw Hammer</i> is born anew - this time
updated and presented in trade paperback with a gorgeous cover that calls out
"Buy me!" I reread it, of course, as soon as I got my autographed
copy, and I found that even then, the Paul Dale Anderson of 1989 had the chops
and the talent and the gift for plotting and creating memorable characters that
is the trademark of the Paul Dale Anderson of today. I watch him now, with joy,
as he has begun editing the sequel to <i>Spilled
Milk</i>, and I relish in his <i>Instruments
of Death</i> series. His <i>Winds</i> series
took me to a different level; he combined personal catharsis with his deep
knowledge of everything from military strategy to Eastern spiritual practices
to the history of our beloved city; weaving a series of genre-bending,
gorgeously written books - well worth reading. In addition, his short stories
are masterpieces. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, Paul---you and I have walked through this forest apart
and together--marveling at trees, sitting on stumps, tripping on vines,
laughing into the sun and crying in the rain. I am honored to call you beloved
friend and now loved one as well. And I celebrate this by seeing <i>Claw Hammer</i> come full circle. I know
that even though Gretta is on the other side, she's still right beside you,
feeling pleased that you are happy and that you’re back in the world of
writing. I’m proud to be by you side now, and I couldn't be prouder of you, Paul
Dale Anderson. as I hold in my hand my copy of <i>Claw Hammer</i>, which is still a perfectly-paced, intelligently
written and terrifying read. I love you, Paul, and I love your writing. All
your books. But this one will forever be special. ----Lizza<o:p></o:p></div>
Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-88187948053552191432016-11-18T15:09:00.002-06:002016-11-30T03:35:27.635-06:00For Paul Dale Anderson<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Now on Amazon!</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1519058314/" style="background-color: white;">Trade Paperback of Claw Hammer</a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Oh, my stars. This
started out as a brief Facebook post, and has become not only my celebration of
a major event in Paul Dale Anderson’s life as a writer - the reissue of his
bestselling novel, <i>Claw Hammer,</i> in
trade paperback; but my passionate love letter
to him. I received my copy (and his autograph) yesterday, and I cherish this prize
as I feel cherished by him. Paul deserves this—the chance to revise <i>Claw Hammer</i> and see it in a new format
that will bring him even more devoted readers. He has always been a masterful horror/suspense
author, and revisiting this novel has made me see, anew, what a talent Paul has
nurtured all his life--and how even though his craft has matured, he already had
"It" - that special touch, back in 1989 when I read his work for the
first time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Paul and I both have a
physical love affair with books. There is something about a trade paperback
that always takes my breath away. The creamy, matte paper, the cover artwork,
the font faces, the drop caps, the professional presentation, the crisp
newness. What a piece of work I hold in my hands! <i>Claw Hammer</i> has extra-special meaning to me, because it was that
gritty 1989 mass-market paperback that made 39-year-old Elizabeth Flygare
decide that she simply HAD to meet this "Paul Anderson" from
Rockford, Illinois. Little did I know what how what was to unfold over the
coming decades. We began as professionals, each in our own realm; first, I
hired him as a guest presenter at the Northern Illinois Writers Conference,
which I headed when I worked at the Library. That same year, he and his lovely
wife Gretta came to a Rockford Friends of Folk Music event where I performed on
fretted dulcimer. It was only after then that Paul Dale Anderson came back to
work at Rockford Public Library, becoming my colleague and my instant friend.
Our mutual love of horror along with our appreciation of literature,
psychology, good music and snappy conversation made us kindred spirits. Paul
was always there for me, to laugh with me and to listen to my stories, as I
listened to his. It doesn’t surprise me that when I go through old photographs,
I find pictures of us together in the workplace.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_ZazSxiCOVJQoWBHG9SiTSX0ZgxWw0bD2EV7ss65toPgO5O4vrWmfKRNpMoUBFdyQCB-t2dWwZpGERu4TvKWSCpGyUsD53WT7kUYJcku00uT0SR17chKS39hatGDnlo5wQKN1p407ION/s1600/Elizabeth+and+Paul+in+Adult+Services+Galley+when+he+rertired+in+2000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_ZazSxiCOVJQoWBHG9SiTSX0ZgxWw0bD2EV7ss65toPgO5O4vrWmfKRNpMoUBFdyQCB-t2dWwZpGERu4TvKWSCpGyUsD53WT7kUYJcku00uT0SR17chKS39hatGDnlo5wQKN1p407ION/s320/Elizabeth+and+Paul+in+Adult+Services+Galley+when+he+rertired+in+2000.jpg" width="233" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLfKACUXz_2RB3_V64XZvnpk-E5gI-1QW2ia1vTJZ0xKXCpF0KQygQ0yZFIMRc0rLpFg6KhePGKYflA7-DCYtjZXmpuclQvcGwp4WCp4qwcR4YOxz39aN5iE8iCWUBCDKCuQOU6qiVNmr/s1600/Elizabeth%252C+Joel+Rosenfeld+and+Paul+in+library+auditorium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLfKACUXz_2RB3_V64XZvnpk-E5gI-1QW2ia1vTJZ0xKXCpF0KQygQ0yZFIMRc0rLpFg6KhePGKYflA7-DCYtjZXmpuclQvcGwp4WCp4qwcR4YOxz39aN5iE8iCWUBCDKCuQOU6qiVNmr/s320/Elizabeth%252C+Joel+Rosenfeld+and+Paul+in+library+auditorium.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Paul wove in and out
of my life for the next two decades. At each meeting, we found our friendship intact.
It was Paul Dale Anderson who grasped the profound impact on my life and the
depth of my grief, even as I couldn’t do so myself, when my father died in
1997. It was Paul Dale Anderson who shared my demented sense of humor and
co-wrote, with me, the stage production which was performed by Library staff in
2000 to bid Joel Rosenfeld bon voyage upon his retirement. It was Paul Dale
Anderson who would come into the staff lounge with that twinkle in his eye, and
his pipe, with his "Hi, Elizabeth," and that devilish grin back in
the day—even when I didn’t want to talk. We’d sit in our corners with our
books, neither of us knowing that our great minds were probably thinking alike.
And later, it was Paul Dale Anderson, back at RPL part-time, who didn't mind
when I rolled my chair up to his desk in the Adult Services office and poured
out my vents about the traumatic changes in our workplace. Paul, in his astute
way, perceived what troubled me, but wisely withheld unsolicited advice,
instead lending me his patient listening ear. When I left the Main Library to
work at a branch and subsequently retired, I didn’t realize until later that he
might have missed me as much as I missed him, with his newly-minted library
degree and successful hypnosis practice. And finally - when the shock of the
loss of his beautiful wife Gretta in January 2012 shattered his world, it was I
who sat in my living room chair and wept, unable to find the words that would
give him grace. To me, he was more than friend; he was tribe – he was brother
to me. When he hurt, I hurt. But the love I had for him then was purely agape
love, and vice versa.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">And here I am now, blessed
as I find myself by his side – it will be five years this April. Who can explain
how and when a love like this can blossom and bring two hearts together? In the
great scheme of things, I believe both Paul and I needed to live the lives we lived,
and that it was pure grace that we recognized in one another the promise of a new
surprising turn in our road that April. Then came that day in May, at our first
WisCon together, when Paul told me of his decision to retire from his career as
a hypnotist and return to the world of writing. I was honored to be there by
his side, and challenged to respect his need for solitude as he climbed back up
on the horse and resumed the ride. I haven’t always succeeded, but I’ve tried
to give him the quiet space he needs as he builds his fine reputation in the
changing arena of the writing world. And now, we're seeing it together - the
harvest of his dream realized - many books published, his name now known, and
the celebration today of the book I hold in my hands that first drew me to become
his friend.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We can and do love
many people, and in many different ways. I respect and revere the memory of his
beloved Gretta, as I delight in the gift of becoming his loving companion now
as we lean into our senior years. Paul Dale Anderson has taught me what love
is, and what love is not. We cherish our times, learning from each other’s ways; we know we don’t need to marry nor share a home to be together. When
apart, other friends and other experiences enrich our days, so when we come
together, we meet refreshed, having had our own space to learn new things,
which we share with each other. I want to think that somehow dear Gretta is at
peace that he is happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">And now I look at him,
amazed. Paul Dale Anderson, who has taught me the concept of unconditional
positive regard - tough love at times, but steadfast love just the same. Paul
Dale Anderson, whose words inspired me to get sober three years ago. Paul Dale
Anderson, who helps me remember, every day, that love is not needy, and love is
not rescuing. Paul Dale Anderson, who appreciates and shares my deranged sense
of humor, recognizes that we’re both incurable romantics, and knows exactly
when to hold my hand. Paul Dale Anderson, the only other person I know who
watches all the credits after a movie. Lover of cats, father, professional
writer, scientist, scholar, elegant gentleman, generous friend, sweet lover. The
paradox is that while perplexing and
maddening at times, as well as numinous and multifaceted, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">ours really is a simple love. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Yes - pared down to
its purity - it is uncomplicated. It is, after all, the most elemental force: love.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So – you who haven't yet read a Paul Dale Anderson novel, (and all of you who have had the pleasure), know that when you hold this new edition of <i>Claw Hammer </i>in your hands, you can look forward to a brilliant,
well-crafted read full of surprising turns, vibrant characters and impeccable
timing. Then, after you have finished it, go on and read his other books! The
world is a richer place because Paul Dale Anderson is in it. I love him.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-86049873218592094612016-11-18T15:09:00.001-06:002016-11-19T04:29:47.976-06:00I'm not gonna take it<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">TODAY'S FACEBOOK POST</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/trump-chooses-sen-jeff-sessions-for-attorney-general-rep-mike-pompeo-for-cia-director-transition-sources-say/2016/11/18/a0c170ae-ad8e-11e6-a31b-4b6397e625d0_story.html?postshare=1021479500973275&tid=ss_fb">Trump chooses Sen. Jeff Sessions for attorney general, Rep. Mike Pompeo for CIA director</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">OK. I'm done. Jeff Sessions is ANTI-CIVIL RIGHTS. I tried being gracious and even posting to individuals' Facebook pages that I was sick of all the negativity, and that we should all unite. How can we unite in peace and hope? This is my tipping point. I can't. Not any more. I'm too bold and outspoken and opinionated to force myself to subdue my personality. What is happening to our country is so vile, so unspeakably demonic, so viscerally terrifying that I can no longer abide by what Hillary Clinton suggested in her concession speech: that we must accept that Donald Trump will be our president, and that we must give him a chance. He is showing that he is a mentally unbalanced, narcissistic, shallow and evil carnival huckster who has managed to hypnotize a large portion of our population. He is vomiting his hate into every valley and every river and every mountain in this land that I love. I can't leave the country. I'm 66 years old and my entire body is racked with arthritis to the point where I can't sleep. I can't go out and march and demonstrate; I have days when I can barely walk. What can seniors do? Where are the college students - where are the young, passionate, bright shining stars who will stand up and fight? Because posting on Facebook won't do it. When I talk to my closet friends, I'm preaching to a choir who knows the notes much better than I do and, like me, lack the physical energy to even think about the subject, much less go out there and be activists.. Some have chosen to retreat; I respect that, because a human being can just take so much before they reach the magic number 7 plus or minus 2. I woke up this morning with "Do you hear the people sing" playing in my head. Will it come to that? Will I live to see the wreckage---probably. Will I live to see the healing? I doubt it. All I have are my words. From now on, even though I realize I'll be unfriended, I'm going to be open about the wretched way I feel about the atrocities that are being visited upon our country after this nightmarish election. I can't suck it up and I won't. To all my friends who've had to read my cloying, pompous scoldings about how we should all "unite and be as one people," I give my heartfelt amend. Those who support Trump and what he has already begun to do to dismantle the country I love have no problem expressing their opinions here.So I shall express mine too. This isn't about Hillary Clinton, nor Democrats, nor Republicans any more.(I could have lived with a Mitt Romney presidency). But I cannot and WILL NOT accept the situation we're in, and I can't just sit in my recliner and weep. WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN? Will there be an outright rebellion - a revolution? Is this the end of the United States of America? It feels, to me, like the end of the world.</span></span></div>
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-72804563851402322452016-10-27T03:26:00.000-05:002017-07-20T20:04:19.980-05:00Alexander's Feast: A dream realized<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 156.75pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">HANDEL’s ALEXANDER’S FEAST, or THE
POWER OF MUSICK<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">By Elizabeth Aisling Flygare<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I am a writer, a poet, an artist, a devotee of choral
music, a by-ear musician (piano, guitar and fretted dulcimer) and a former part-time
organist in the Episcopal Church. I hold a Bachelor of Arts in art with several
hours beyond a minor in music, and I was a paraprofessional librarian and music
selector for our local public library for 35 years. One of the joys of my
career was that in the beginning, we were encouraged to listen to music on the
job! It was then, in 1977, that I discovered the Alfred Deller recording of <i>Alexander’s Feast.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I was familiar with most of Mr. Handel’s choral works,
but this one was new to me. I took it home and fell instantly in love with the
gorgeous melodies, the soaring harmonies, the hilarity of “Drinking is the
Soldier’s Pleasure,” (as I listened to this music while writing and swilling
wine), and the sheer bliss of finding out that this was an ode in honor of St.
Cecilia. The words of John Dryden, combined with the heartrending Handel
melodies and the opulent choruses, filled this incurable romantic with absolute
bliss. I declared, at age 27, that this was my favorite choral work, and that
one of my life’s goals would be to hear it performed live.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Fast forward to 2016. Last week, at age 66, I finally
realized the dream on my bucket list when my closest friend and I attended the
performance of <i>Alexander’s Feast </i>by
the Music of the Baroque Chorus and Orchestra. It was held in the North Shore
Center for the Performing Arts in Skokie, and there wasn’t a bad seat in the
house. I did notice how cramped the
balcony seats were, but I was too immersed in the experience to care. I had
long ago given up hope that it would ever be done in the United States, and
this event was two hours from our home! I still can’t believe I truly was
there, and that I had the privilege of experiencing such a stellar performance.
It exceeded my expectations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">My first observance, and question, has to do with my
good friend Liz Cifani. We’ve been out of touch far too long; I gather she has
retired as principal harpist for the Lyric Opera. Marguerite Lynn Williams is a
worthy successor. Her playing is lyrical, her phrasing flawless, her
performance impeccable and her skill seemingly effortless. Now, I must look up
Liz and find out what she’s up to these days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Softly Sweet,
in Lydian Measures </span></i><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">was listed in the program as a soprano solo; in this concert,
it was performed by a tenor. I revisited Alfred Deller’s recording and he does
not make his Hitchcockian appearance here; he, too, used a soprano soloist. Why
the change? It did sound appropriate at the Music of the Baroque performance,
but I was a bit surprised.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">After the concert, a very kind woman named Jen More
let me have access to someone affiliated with the chorus for a brief exchange.
Jen also told me that the Music of the Baroque uses the Barenreiter edition of <i>Alexander’s Feast. </i>I am going to try to
get my hands on it. In the meantime, I’ve been listening to the five recordings
I own of this masterpiece. Each is different; even the performance in Skokie was
different. I gather there have been countless discussions and debates, over the
decades, concerning the “right” way to approach this music. It fascinates me to
hear each interpretation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">-Alfred Deller’s</span></b><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> version completely omits
the harp concerto, <i>Your Voices</i> <i>Tune </i>and any form of <i>Let’s imitate her notes above.</i> <i>Thais Led the Way </i>is sung with a slur on
the first two notes; I believe the Music of The Baroque soprano treated the
first note as dotted with the tie between the second and third notes. (I was
jarred by this!) Deller’s version ends with a festive rendering of <i>Let Old Timotheus, </i>ending with the
triumphant, emotional <i>She Drew an Angel
Down. </i> Honor Sheppard’s singing is sumptuous.
This is the version I have loved throughout my adulthood, and I thought it
would be a hard act to follow. Incidentally, the Novello Handel Edition score,
edited by Donald Burrows, insists that “Thais” should be pronounced “They-iss”,
and that is how the Deller Consort pronounces it. (They also use “Tie-motheus”;
it seems the preferred pronunciation uses a short vowel, as in Timothy).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">-Harry
Christophers - The Sixteen</span></b><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> provided my second exposure to <i>Alexander’s Feast. </i>I had to get
used to the bouncy tempo after years of Deller’s stately interpretation. The
harp concerto is restored after the recitative <i>Timotheus placed on high,</i></span> as in the performance by Music of
the Baroque. However, this recording omits the soprano and alto duet <i>Let’s Imitate her notes above</i>. Immediately
after<i> Let Old Timotheus/She Drew an Angel
Down (</i>which I thought was going to be the ending.) Handel’s <i>Organ Concerto # in G Minor is inserted</i>!
Following the concerto, the piece concludes with hymnlike, majestic choruses: a
setting of <i>Your Voices Tune </i>which
segues into <i>Let’s imitate her notes above.
</i>The Christophers version ends the work with the words: “<i>Sacred to harmony, Sacred to Love.</i> It is
beautiful, but not tear-jerking, as I think I should be! <i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>-John Eliot Gardiner/The Monteverdi Choir’s </b>reissued Decca recording
is similar to what I heard Sunday night at the Music of The Baroque concert.
This recording is live, and features period instruments. Interestingly, a
countertenor sings <i>Softly Sweet.</i> The
harp concerto is omitted; however, the <i>Alexander’s
Feast Concerto Grosso in C </i>for is placed between parts one and two. The
singing is graceful, but a bit too staccato for my taste. The ending sequenced
as Music of the Baroque did it; after
the Grand Chorus <i>At last divine Cecilia
came, </i>along comes the recitative <i>Your
Voices Tune,</i> (but with a countertenor),<i>
</i>followed by the duet, sung by a soprano and a countertenor. There is no
choral setting of <i>Your Voices Tune. Let
old Timotheus-----She drew an angel down </i>concludes the recording. Unfortunately,
and my opinion here, the choir lowers its volume for <i>She Drew an angel down, </i>making the ending reverent and serene
rather than triumphant. It’s lovely, but I missed the drama to which I’m
accustomed at the conclusion. It is lauded by many as the “must have” <i>Alexander’s Feast.</i> I was fortunate
enough to find a copy of this rare CD on Amazon. There’s a bootleg copy on YouTube,
but it’s too long to download using an online video to mp3 converter to get the
audio, so you have to download it as an mp4 instead and have a way to convert
it if you want to put it in Amazon Music. They accept only MP3s for uploading.
The YouTube video doesn’t give a numbered list of the descriptions of each
track—what you get is one continuous 1:38:22 track. Very spare recording,
nicely done, nirvana for purists. I am glad I was able to buy it.<i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>-Sir Philip Ledger’s</b> 2002 remastered version with the English
Chamber Orchestra and the King’s College Choir is very interesting indeed, not
to mention that it has the best Bacchus. It deletes the harp concerto, as does
Deller’s version, and does not include the organ concerto oddly placed toward
the end of Harry Christophers’ version. <i>Softly
Sweet </i>is sung by a soprano. As in Deller’s version, <i>Thus Long ago </i>segues into the chorus <i>At Last the Divine Cecilia came, </i>and this is not noted on the album
liner notes; they share a track. Following is the recitative and the chorus of <i>Let Old Timotheus/She Drew and Angel Down, </i>after
which is inserted the recitative <i>Your
voices tune. </i>Next is the soprano/alto duet <i>Let’s Imitate Her Notes Above.</i> Following this is that gorgeous
choral version of <i>Your Voices Tune, </i>which
segues into the choral setting of <i>Let’s
Imitate/Sacred to harmony, Sacred to Love</i>. But that’s not the grand finale!
<i>The Choce of Hercules, </i>which<i> </i>has been thought of by some scholars as
the original third part of <i>Alexander’s
Feast, </i>is included.<i> </i>On the Ledger
CD, we are treated to the entire thing – all twelve tracks. This is probably my favorite version of AF, other than Deller.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;">-Nikolaus Harnoncourt Concentus Musicus</span>,
discovered while I was writing this:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;">Saving
the best for last. The online reviews of this astounding version do it more
justice than I ever could. </span><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I found it on YouTube and downloaded the entire video. It is
a live performance and it is spectacular. I have also extracted the audio and
converted it to mp3. Some CDs are available on Amazon at various prices; I may
cave, but it doesn't have the "Your Voices Tune" chorus. So - I will probably stay with Ledger.</span><br />
<span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"> This is the bare-bones information I have:<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: 156.75pt; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; line-height: 107%;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Posted on the YouTube page:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "courier new"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";">o<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">George Frideric Handel [Georg
Friedrich Händel]<br />
Alexander's Feast Oratorio composed in 1736<br />
</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333;">Concentus Musicus Wien conducted by Nikolaus
Harnoncourt</span><span style="color: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
Dorothea Röschmann, soprano; Michael Schade, tenor; Gerard Finley, baritone<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">0:00</span></a> Overture<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">7:41</span></a> Happy
Pair<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">14:24</span></a> The
list'ning Crowd<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">16:40</span></a> With
ravish'd ears<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">20:35</span></a> Bacchus,
ever fair and Young<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">27:15</span></a> He
sung Darius Great and Good<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">34:12</span></a> Softly
sweet<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">37:15</span></a> War,
he sung, is toil and trouble<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">42:08</span></a> The
many rend the skies<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">46:15</span></a> The
Prince, unable to conceal<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">56:37</span></a> Now
strike the Golden Lyre<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">59:21</span></a> Revenge<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">1:08:58</span></a> The
Princes applaud<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">1:11:08</span></a> Thais
lead the way<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">1:15:50</span></a> Thus
long ago<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=em0qbyoFqCA&index=2&list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L"><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #167ac6; padding: 0in; text-decoration: none;">1:22:04</span></a> Let
old Timotheus yield the Prize<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The expressions on the conductor’s face are so
radiant, intense and energizing! I can feel the music with him, right into my
bones. He is completely in flow, as is the chorus. I have yet to sit down and
savor my treat in its entirety, but I will provide the URL for anyone who wants
to experience the sublime:<a href="https://youtu.be/em0qbyoFqCA?list=PL6WIWapSWYkdGn38ViG_37NC5xur-zT8L">Harnoncourt's live performance of Alexander's Feast</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Oh, and yes, it ends with <i>She drew an Angel Down.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I suspend all intellect, critical expertise or lack
thereof, nitpicking analysis, observations of pronunciation, sequences, the inclusions
and exclusions, and the gender of the <i>Softly
Sweet </i>singer. Even with the snippets
I sampled, I was <i>in </i>that space surely
as I sat, sober as a judge, in my cramped seat at the North Shore Center for
the Performing Arts balcony this past Sunday night and was transformed. Thank
you, Music of the Baroque, for an experience I shall never forget.<span id="goog_2105348588"></span><span id="goog_2105348589"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a></span></div>
Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-4077821269685493082016-07-18T22:12:00.004-05:002016-07-21T22:35:09.840-05:00From Purple PT to Latte Soul<span style="background-color: white; color: #8e7cc3; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My First Post on <a href="http://www.kiasoulforum.com/">Kia Soul Forum</a></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuvpNIHRQNpdyrgWtZN96ZPLBNEOn5_YIpPHWZ1Kzo2GoDIkFflgsZkceYVoXA5IsmCGcLWV0H0GeRoOSoXjtAd47MomOwI9dpRyKYokJ4BS89WSxR6xm6FFo71EjCEbIRNa70gNe1_vUE/s1600/26.+It+is+well+with+my+Soul+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #8e7cc3; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuvpNIHRQNpdyrgWtZN96ZPLBNEOn5_YIpPHWZ1Kzo2GoDIkFflgsZkceYVoXA5IsmCGcLWV0H0GeRoOSoXjtAd47MomOwI9dpRyKYokJ4BS89WSxR6xm6FFo71EjCEbIRNa70gNe1_vUE/s400/26.+It+is+well+with+my+Soul+%25283%2529.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #8e7cc3; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Princess Kiana</span></h3>
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b style="background-color: white;">Proud new owner of a brand-new 2016 Latte Soul!</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b style="background-color: white;"><br /></b></span></div>
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<div class="nolinks" id="post_message_992665" style="box-shadow: none !important; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<blockquote class="postcontent restore " style="box-shadow: none !important; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #8e7cc3; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "geneva" , "lucida" , "lucida grande" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hello! I'm Lizza, (Elizabeth) from northern Illinois, and I'm a baby boomer who just had to trade in her dream car. So happy to have found this forum! And, so happy to have found a new Kia Soul that I love, because it was the only kind of car I would have even considered as a replacement. I drove a 2007 purple pearl PT Cruiser for 9 years - it was my fantasy car and it even had a name:Princess Trina. Sadly, the Princess and I had to part company, as her air conditioner went on the fritz; also, her left fender and most of her front bumper had dents. I was told that I had driven the value out of her, and that the cost of repairs would exceed her trade-in (I got $1000). First, of course, I looked into places like Bumper Pros and other recommended places that worked on A/C, but the quotes were daunting. So, with a heavy heart but a hopeful soul, I drove my beloved Trina to the Kia dealership here in town, where Souls were being offered at zero percent financing. It was a no-brainer, really! That latte Soul looked at me with her dreamy eyes and I thought "chocolate...." and I said "YES!" They went off to drive my PT; I told them I couldn't look and asked my best friend, who went with me, to retrieve my garage door opener. The guy at the dealership even agreed to park my PT someplace where I wouldn't have to see it again; they drove it to a lot around the corner of the building. B</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">y then, of course, I was in love - when I saw that Latte color, I knew immediately that this would be my new baby. I love the car - I have even named her - I'm a Diana Gabaldon <i>Outlander</i> fan, so I looked for an <i>Outlander</i> name. I tried <i>Sassenach, </i>but found out that it's not just Jamie's term of endearment for Claire - it is a <span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">derogatory term used by the Scottish against the English. (I dinna know that!) Being a fan of British royalty, I looked up the word "Princess" to see if that would be an appropriate title, and it is! So, I came up with <i>Princess Kiana, </i>in loving memory of Princess Diana and - of course - Princess Trina. </span></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #8e7cc3; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And as for Princess Trina, there will be no visitation and no funeral, but donations may be made in her honor to the Lizza's Car Payments Fund. (joking)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #8e7cc3;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br style="box-shadow: none !important;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Three surprises when I first met my new Soulmate: 1 - no CD player! and 2. No spare tire - not even a doughnut! I guess this is the wave of the 20-teens. I have an 80GB IPod Classic with all my playlists, so it's been a cakewalk to switch from CDs all over the car to a discreet little silver square, smaller than my phone. The USB port is fabulous - I can listen to my Amazon playlists on my Kindle. (I suppose I can even hook up my external CD drive if I'm desperate) I love the Bluetooth as well - and my Samsung Galaxy is now paired to the sound system. Surprise #3 was that my Soul is longer than my PT Cruiser was. We had to put a bumper in the garage so I know how far to pull in. Wow - the cargo space is amazing. I can't say enough about this little car. Great speakers! Handles like a champ and has such a smooth, silken feel to it! I just need to find some way to subtly "purplify" Kiana, perhaps with discreet window decals, so she reflects my personality a bit more, as I am known for loving purple. I look forward now to getting to know my Soul Sisters and Brothers on this forum. Someone - anyone - how can I get a little metal diecast model of my car? I need to be able to look at her when I'm in my home office! I've already ordered touchup paint.</span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #8e7cc3; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Finally, I've been discovering that many people who loved their PT Cruisers and finally had to trade them got Souls. It turns out that the Kia Soul is a popular replacement vehicle for bereaved PT people. So I'm in good company!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #8e7cc3; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A-Soulin'</span></h3>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #8e7cc3; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It is well with my Soul!</span></h3>
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-90063170837121634052016-07-18T14:29:00.002-05:002016-07-18T20:16:35.130-05:00Lizza on the 2016 Election<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I am flummoxed by this
election. I make no bones about my political views. My sisters and I were
raised to be an old-fashioned, rational Republicans. General Eisenhower was the
one who exposed the concentration camps - and if I have my history correct, as
President he started the Interstate system. When I came of age to vote, I voted
a straight Republican ticket--yes, I voted for Richard Nixon. My hippie
contemporaries would have been horrified had I disclosed that. Appearance-wise,
I was hippie-ish, but only as a fashion statement. I was opposed to the Vietnam
War, but politics had no salience for me and I didn't absorb the actual events.
I was too wrapped up in my fantasy world of poetry, classical music, writing
romantic fiction and exploring alternative lifestyles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">As I previously stated, I
voted for Nixon in 1972. I voted for Gerald Ford in 1976. He was a
"normal," Chamber of Commerce Republican--certainly not a right-wing ideologue.
Then came the Reagan era, and the worm turned. The Moral Majority was on the
uprise--people like Anita Bryant and Phyllis Schlafly actually had credibility
with some. I watched the Republican Party morph into a right-wing,
ultraconservative platform that clearly didn't appeal to middle-class,
educated, working Americans who were progressive thinkers but still respected
tradition. As a municipal employee working at the public library, I remember,
at one point, saying, "I can't afford to be a Republican any more."
In 1980, I became a registered Democrat and voted for Jimmy Carter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The Republican Party
today is a different bird. It bears no resemblance to the party I once knew.
People like me used to be called "Rockefeller Republicans." That term
is now archaic. Gone are the Nelson Rockefellers, the Charles Percys, and other
prominent figures who held liberal to moderate views on social and domestic
policies. Relegated to the dusty past are the statesmen (and women) who valued
tradition, culture and higher education. These days they are dismissed as
elitist WASPS. I still bemoan the fact that John B. Anderson of Illinois opted
to run as an independent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Now we have the Tea
Party. We have Sarah Palin and her daughter Bristol’s short-lived reality TV
program. We have a plethora of social and religious fanatical groups that
identify as Republican. The Republican Party, as it is now, has alienated
rational voters. Funny how my sisters and I grew up thinking of Democrats (we
called them Damn Craps) as blue-collar hillbillies. Yup, we were snobs. We were
clearly influenced by our family matriarch, Grandma Arabelle, who was obsessed with the DAR and unduly concerned about what to wear to services at the Plymouth
Congregational Church and to luncheons at the Dayton's tea room. And I've gone
far beyond that worldview. How ironic; the Democratic Party has now become the
party of intellectuals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I am a moderate. I describe myself as a liberal Republican of the old-school, and a conservative
Democrat. I am fiscally conservative and socially liberal. But I'm not a
Socialist. I'm a Baby Boomer senior citizen with a good bullshit detector. I am
aghast that we’ve gone from Dwight D. Eisenhower to a bigoted, bloated,
reality-TV turd whose idiotic spoutings disgust me and are, in my opinion, an
embarrassment for our country. If Donald Trump were to become president, the
United States would be the laughingstock of the world. Imagine "Hail to
the Chief" playing for him! I can't. (President Obama is, by the
way, one of the most widely respected Presidents {worldwide} that we've
had---at least in my lifetime. I supported him and was glad I traded in my car
when I did so I didn't have to personally remove my Obama/Biden sticker from
the windshield.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br />
There is no place for people like me in this country. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Many Republicans simply
won't vote. I personally know several, many of them seniors, who plan to sit
out this election. Yes, I shall vote, and I shall vote for Hillary Clinton -
not because I think she walks on water, but because she isn't terrifying and
she has solid political experience - she served as Secretary of State and has a firm background in the workings of government. I know a lot of people detest
Hillary Clinton. E-mail issues are just one of the fuzzy areas that ought to be
addressed formally; clearly policies need updating in this cyber-age.
Much of the ridicule of Mrs. Clinton (jokes about her being strident,
shrill, wearing pantsuits, etc.) is God-damned sexist, and that includes
first-naming her, which I will not do. How many people referred to our
President as "Barack? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I wish both parties
could have come up with popular, widely respected candidates. There is a
generation that didn't step up to the plate, and we're seeing the results. No
criticism personally of my own nieces and nephews - but people born in the 70s
are the right age to be running for President now, and the pool is empty. So
Democrats have old people (older than I am!) running. And the Republicans have
The Donald. I would love to hear my father's spin on this. The only thing I
hear from him right now is him spinning in his grave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">So - to Hillary Clinton, who I fervently hope wins the election, I say, "I put my trust in you to
lead this country. Please don't let us down." My only words for Donald Trump
are, "You're fired." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Now we wait for the
chips to fall - or for the shit to hit the fan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4715703752930539241.post-57329207508570301352016-04-01T02:03:00.002-05:002016-04-07T14:06:56.920-05:00Joan Mangan<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #20124d; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Joan N. Mangan 1928-2016</span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">A fine and noble lady has left this world. This past Saturday, almost two years after the sudden death of her beloved daughter, Jean (see blog entry about this from 2014), Joan</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Mangan died. What a life she had! And so blessed she was, to be given such a long life--and to pass from this earthly realm in the loving presence of her children. My heart breaks for this family; they have endured more than their share of pain, but they've maintained their sense of humor and loving hearts. To them, I dedicate this post,</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #3d85c6; color: #20124d; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I met Joan (pronounced Jo Ann) Mangan around 1987 when her daughter, Jean, began
work at Rockford Public Library and later became one of my supervisors. We soon
got to know what a lovely lady Jean’s mother was, and what a great bond Joan
and Jean shared. Jean loved to tell us all the wonderful Mangan stories, with
her dear mother (who was her best friend) shining always in the center. What a
rare family--what a wonderful mother the Mangan siblings had! She had room in
her heart to mother others, as well--many a time Joan dried my tears, over the
phone, when I'd call to speak to Jean about some drama at work and Joan ended
up with the call. I'm so glad Joan got
to go to Ireland with Jean--was it just once or more than once? Such memories
to cherish. Later in Joan’s life, she and Jean shared a wonderful home
together. I can hear their laughter as they are now reunited; I’ll tell you
all, those two made me howl with mirth so many times! You see, they both
thought that the baby names in the newspaper were hilarious. So, Joan would
clip them out for Jean's delectation.
Jean would laugh until she cried and then deliver them to me at work.
Our favorites were "Gassy," “Timmy Tinkletop,” “Clinton Renee,” and
"Anastazia Earth Fire." That's
just one of the many ways in which I remember the fun and the joy that Joan
radiated wherever she went. I thinks she was the purest soul I ever knew--she
was a grand lady with the rare combination of a deep spirit and a true
appreciation for silliness. Truly, I
felt a connection with Joan that went beyond ordinary. Her sense of humor rarely faltered. Her
empathy floored me. Her sincerity,
concern and caring must have had such a positive impact on others! Her deep love for her children was evident
in everything she said and did. Her dignity and grace when life dealt her
tragedy and sorrow was unsurpassed; it came to be a great source of strength
for me, as I am sure it was for her children and for all who knew her. And Joan
had so many gifts to share with others! Did you all know what a beautiful
singing voice she had? At the age of eighty-six, she absolutely blew my mind
with her pure soprano. And I'll never forget the way she made me feel so at home
in her presence--as if in her heart resided a home for all of the often-troubled
souls whose trials and tribulations provided fodder for the countless
"library stories" Jean would share around the dinner table.. I'm sure
Joan laughed the most, but there was always respect and kindness toward the
people who touched Joan's life in one way or another. Joan was the heart, the muse, the grace note,
the jewel of a remarkable family. All of you: Larry, Diane, Kevin, Eileen,
Michael, Lori and Patrick, know that now your mother and your sister sit as
angels upon each of your shoulders and will be with you always. </span><i style="background-color: white;">Ar dheis
Dé go raibh tú,</i><span style="background-color: white;"> Joan. </span><i style="background-color: white;">Suaimhneas síoraí or. </i><span style="background-color: white;">I love you, Joan.</span></span><o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="background-color: #3d85c6; color: #20124d; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjopkDeJX1BHtbwueOpYMNO0Dr4WTWcQR9eP74xLd3cSSgp6DdxXcayRiIBHMbcGmAPoG9ixRYEjhdLUgef4Doeuqi8rOT7lprcX6OGoMHE4HiAszbEeE1RU3Lv9U4pUDiqUnGGrag683Nd/s1600/Joan+Mangan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjopkDeJX1BHtbwueOpYMNO0Dr4WTWcQR9eP74xLd3cSSgp6DdxXcayRiIBHMbcGmAPoG9ixRYEjhdLUgef4Doeuqi8rOT7lprcX6OGoMHE4HiAszbEeE1RU3Lv9U4pUDiqUnGGrag683Nd/s400/Joan+Mangan.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></div>
Lizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10977153291012263874noreply@blogger.com0